


Enigmatic

by Overwatch_Vronti



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Drug Abuse, F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Inappropriate Humor, Inhuman Abilities, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Other, POV Female Character, Past Relationship(s), Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Imbalance, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Teasing, canon/reader if you squint, intense description of regeneracy stages, rare POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overwatch_Vronti/pseuds/Overwatch_Vronti
Summary: After the fall, Blackwatch dissolved along with Overwatch and for six, bitterly long years without the people you knew best, you must begin to wonder...What is right from wrong?Was it wrong to confide in a dead man?You sat back against the concrete divider and swished the glass of moonshine in your grip with a bland lethargy,This was going to be a real pain in the ass of a year.





	1. Ouch. Right in the masculinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talon techies aren't as approachable as apple genius bar workers.

"What information was retrieved?" A cold figure growled in a vile tone, the room was dimly lit and the sound of technological mechanisms purred lethargically as a technician scrolled through his holovid.  
   
"A fair amount. We've got databases from the London omnic Uprising, Moroccan riots and a few agent locations and statuses along with recent documents." The man paused and expanded the display. "Information on Angela Ziegler, more locational information on some deceased agents and a high priority Blackwatch agent... there's a profile on her that had been recently accessed."

"Who?" The Reaper hissed at the tech worker, however disinterested and distant the Wraith made himself look to be—he was genuinely intrigued to this unspecified female's identity. He was cataloging possible conclusions to who the Overwatch data base had been monitoring.

The technician typed at a fast pace, fearful that the monster in leather with the bone white mask behind him would snap his neck if he didn't rush. The collective gathering of computer technicians made an unanimous bout of interest; a profile shot, a brown haired female in an Overwatch file expanded over a huge holovid. A simple record of her alleged abilities, her impressive kill count and small other facts like age, height and weight.  
   
"I'm cross-running the profile through our records and theirs." The man at the computer control centre rambled on about her.

Reaper didn't need anymore than that picture to know exactly who he was dealing with. Just the soft, barely present smile on her olive tone face, the way he could see her soul in her warm eyes—that fucking look. Reaper looked down, clawed glove pressing dents into the desk beside him and he cussed ambiguously under his breath.

"They're high level... we got a surname. Vrontí. Although, she's marked as KIA, still there's substantial evidence she's still active…"  
   
"...Blackwatch indefinitely went through emergency procedures automatically and cleared most of her file and data after the fall, too late to salvage anything of major value. Its long liquidated." The man made some gestures on the display, flicking through images. A sepia one of her laughing as she finished dealing some poker cards to the now infamous outlaw as he shot her a wounded look, the cowboy, in his early twenties—as was she. His hat was resting between them on the small couch table, Blackwatch logos on both their shoulders, looking to the corner of the image slowly the Wraith sighed, almost painfully. There he was, looming over the ingrate with a cup of coffee in his gloved hands, eyebrow raised and glancing childishly at the deck she'd dealt. Somewhere in the inky depths of his soul, he felt something compared to heartache, but, he catalogued it as resentment towards his own hindsight.  
   
"Medical documents that are heavily corrupted, prior to the fall, however." The technician continued, enlarging a swathe of paperwork stained with black blocks and erratic red ink. "Censorship, unusual for Overwatch to restrict and edit hard copy files, then digitalise... Miss Vrontí had been tested on extensively, judging by what the phrasings are alluding to. Something about regeneration, it's very vague."  
   
"...We have a chunk of her recent activity." Another technician barked, overriding the other man.  
   
"What do you mean by that?" The tone of the Wraiths' voice was harsh and rumbled in his chest as he balled his gauntlet into a fist. A few more images popped up. Her hair is slightly blonder at the tips, it looks nice, she's showing a big expression just by raising her eyebrows. Both of her hands were holding empty bottles of whiskey—shoulder to shoulder with a monolithic man with a mask and pig tattooed his belly, as well as a tall, lanky blonde covered in ash and dust. The man at the controls spoke up, "This is an older video, maybe three years ago?"   
   
A video of her punching a hole in a steel door as sparks flew, putting her hand through it to pull the door handle.  
   
"Aren't I just utter intelligence manifested, Dave?" She opened the door and made an amused expression by raising her brows to the female mercenary that laughed behind the camera. "Figured out how doors work."

Dave Coldsonte was an old drug lord in Australia.

He dealt omnic tech and weapons.

News reports showing a muzzled vigilante fighting off criminals in a store whilst picking up a piece of jewellery played momentarily. The woman is seen examining a Cartier necklace and matching set of drop earrings before clasping the low hanging charm around her neck, looking in the mirror and pistol whipping a masked criminal, moments later.  
   
"Where is she." Reapers' question seemed to be almost always dealt in a strictly sinister tone. "I'm running checks, Reaper." An effeminate technician chimed in. He fiddled with the display, "I'm just waiting for the system–"  
   
Another figure entered the dark room, dressed in a suit with several other henchmen.  
   
"How useless are you?" A new voice spat, annoyance highly placed in his tonality. The operator jumped in his chair and fumbled momentarily, he formed the holographic monitor into a globe and pointed to the city of Sydney, on the eastern coast of Australia.

"Right...here—sir, she's right here—sir!" The technician stuttered, clearly distressed by the authority of the other. The Wraith laughed, deep and vile in a sarcastic mirth at how pathetically the technician submitted to the authoritative figure like a kitten.  
   
"I'll get in touch with Dave Coldsonte to ask him about her." Another operator mumbled to himself.  
   
"Coldsonte is long dead, you idiot, haven't seen the likes of scum like him in a while." Reaper scoffed. On the other side of the spectrum, the suited man laughed, took a drag of his cigarette and wiped the patchy cocaine dust residue from his nostril, pointing sharply at him; the wraith that adorned a white skeletal mask, surrounded by a black hood no less, he had his arms crossed in front of his chest, metallic claws on the end of his fingers. 

"You ought to ask the council," High off his ass, egotistical and arrogant; It made the Wraith see red at the blatant offence flung by the money hoarder of Talon. Still, Reaper was a respected member, only having to kiss the odd ass. This Playboy fuck-up, Vialli, was one of those people to whom he owed the task.

Reaper growled long and rough in his throat, agitation seeping from him in an opaque billow of black smog.

"Not a thing in the world can keep her dead for long, she'd take out everyone on the team if you pissed her off enough." He paused, refraining from speaking in the first person, "And then, she'd likely mercilessly witch hunt the council until she'd satisfied her bloodlust."

Vialli skewed up a brow and exhaled harshly. "Judging from the threat level you put her at, you've had a few run-ins with her?"

"That’s irrelevant." Reaper grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He corrected himself, noticing the quizzicality of his defensiveness for her. "What’s relevant, is that it would be a far better idea to have her join us."

"I trust your judgement, Reaper." Vialli blinked slowly and lagged behind his train of thought. "It says here she goes by Enigma? She's definitely nowhere near bad looking, even if that photo's dated—"   
   
Vialli enlarged a photo of her sitting beside a tall, burly German crusader, the man was laughing heartily and had a comparatively small drink in his hand as she had the super-sized order. She was saying something amusing to Reinhardt, and all the while Vialli was undressing her with his eyes, grinning like a cat.  
   
"What kind of lady hides a pretty face like that with a muzzle? Might have to introduce myself," He straightened his tie, dusting his suit off.  
   
"What do you think, Reaper? Do you want to play wingman?" He proposed, much to Reapers' offence. The Wraith grumbled to himself again, took one sweeping gaze of the dimly lit room through his mask, a faint neon purple under-colour glowed from the electrical machines. Reaper suppressed his aggravation for a fraction of a second only to respond.

"Stop thinking with your cock, Vialli." He growled with a shake of his head plus a fluent roll of his eyes, fire red irises swimming in a black void, bristling somewhat to the man in his little brood of body guards.

"That's a hefty ask." Vialli scoffed, clearly insulted by somebody not fondling his ego, he tensed and stood stiffly. He was surprisingly dense for somebody who only peaked at around five foot seven. "Not as hefty as her rack, however."

Reaper hissed and dematerialised into a haze, wafting out of the control room mumbling slurs, removing himself from the situation before he began to initiate a very one sided physical altercation. Certain it would end in a bloodbath; Reaper would prefer to be absentmindedly cleaning Vialli's viscera off of his gloved talons rather than a round of fisticuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bout to go hip deep in it. Feel free to ask questions or comment!


	2. Is that you, John Wayne?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Smoking winnies, sculling tinnies, harking bitties" -Australian proverb

Down on the spinifex riddled fore dune, a seagull cries out a pitiful whine at an empty cardboard takeout box, greased with stale marking of somebody's past meal. There's a definitive warmth in the coastal breeze that sends a bitter spray of ocean air undulating in a steady stream down the tree lined curve of the main road. It's far warmer than you would've expected a balmy mid-December morning to be. Even still, the sun hasn't fully cut the endless crease of the horizon and there is still a faint visual of a milky crescent moon; if you squinted you could see the fluid gradient of the nights' deep blue sky to a dusty orange, with a feint tinge of maroon that chases the early morning sunrise.

Probably from the heat, you assured yourself, bobbing your head out of the window to stare at the ocean not too far away. You'd probably run down to the beach in all the better of half an hour; when the sun hangs low in the sky. You'd vault to the sea with your five-foot-ten fibreglass surfboard under your arm and a legless wetsuit on. Surfing in the old fashioned style was always more fun than the newest tech; it's not real skill if it's automated.

Mid-summer in Australia was always a chore, the hot air radiates well into the night. With the windows now open, with a quick push; a light sea breeze filtered into the house. There was toast in the toaster and you had a jar of old fashioned jam sitting a few inches away as you turned up the song that was playing through an even older speaker. Your tan skin contrasted against your clothing; With nothing but a pair of underwear and an old scoop neck, it had an image of a Rottweiler standing on its hind legs with a handgun on the back. The thread necklace around your neck swung along. Swaying to the beat of the song; even nodding your head when you took a swig of a bottle of ouzo to your left. You took a few long strides to lean over the balcony fence, sliding down to your haunches and humming as you noticed a triad of young surfers rushing past. The deep olive tan on the tops of your feet stood out against the small driveway a few metres below, little clumps of spinifex line the concrete path, and fifty metres ahead of that are the first hints of a grassy knoll leading to the beach. You imagine the cream of the sand you would be dangling lazily above, and fitting yourself in the hollow section of some aged promenade fencing.

The colour would chip from those battered support pikes on either side of you, white and worn and perpetually eroding from a never-ending dusting of salt and wind; and under that mottled coat of paint lies a dirty, lifeless greyish brown timber.

Three young boys, two blonde and one tall brunette, strutted just by your front lawn with surfboards under their arms and you stared them down as lightheartedly as you could, the blonde turned slowly as he caught your gaze and gestured for his friends to halt.

"I swear I've seen ya before, miss." He lifted a hand up to shield his eyes and one rested on the thick wet-suiting on his hip. "You're Sophia Vrontí, right?"

"Yeah," You shrugged absentmindedly, "Why do you ask?"

"Seriously? Holy shit—" The young blonde smiled, "I'm Flint, James Bannetto's son. My dad was in Blackwatch for five years. We live down in Coogee, near the coastal walk."

A mild concern washed over you as to how in gods name this teenager recognised you. "Just before you lads go, how did you manage to recognise me from down there?"

The young Bannetto instantly flustered, "My dad used to talk about you and that cowboy a lot, some Commander and a guy called Diaz, showed me a photo of the squadron and I had told him I'd seen you near Maroubra beach, surfing."

"Good eye kid, get along now, before I keep you kids from the waves." You said, mollycoddling them lightly. "Oath, laters—Miss Vrontí." His brunette friend snickered and Flint waved before the trio sprinted on a diagonal out of sight behind a few monolith banksia trees. You took a long swig of the liquor and pulled it away from your mouth, you read the labelling for a moment.

'Product of Argos, Greece. Το ούζο περιέχει ένα υψηλό ποσοστό του αλκοόλ, παρακαλούμε να πίνετε με υπευθυνότητα,' You hadn't read Greek in a while, it had been a long time since you'd seen your ancestral language on anything besides liquor. But something felt off. Something wasn't right, your intuition was hinting that something was up. Something was here. Watching you, watching the beach, something that felt ominously familiar. It was unusual to say the least, an aura of safety mixed with a fearful insecurity. "For godsakes." You grumbled, brushing it off lethargically as you sat up and strode back into your kitchen, shutting the balcony door and pulling the window shut. It had been years since you gave up the whole heroic job and it was sad to see your abilities had stopped so low. You had one hand on the toaster's plug; funnelling electricity through it with minimal effort.  
   
To make toast.

_"What an amazing gift you have Sophia!"_

Constant regeneracy and the ability to be a portable microwave oven.

_"Your genetic potential will be the catalyst of a new stage in evolution"_

Nevertheless, you pulled the toast out of the toaster and set the bread onto a small plate before buttering it. The faintest smell of shotgun shells and the ever distinct twang of death was all the confirmation you would receive that you had an uninvited guest. Next came the feeling the shadow of a man gave off, cold and unmoving along with the shifting of light of its presence in your peripherals.

   
Without a millisecond of consideration, you spun around, reaching to grab your gun in the utensils drawer, you turned and let off a clip into the space behind you. It was uncoordinated and messy. Whatever or whoever was behind you disappeared into a haze of dense shadow like smoke, the poor lighting of the kitchen made it a near blackout level of obscurantism. The form manifested itself unscathed from the bullets.  
   
"You should invest in some home security." A voice hissed in a deep, grumbling tone that made your spine tingle before hitting you hard, the force pushing you onto the tabletop, your head whipped against the splash back.  
   
A roar of frustration trembled from you, making you writhe against the marble of the kitchen top. The speaker hit the floor and broke with a loud screech before it vibrated and hummed out of operation. You thrashed in a blind fury and managed to land a swift king hit to the creature's throat. Before you could land another, the figure grabbed your waist, picking you up effortlessly and slamming you into the glass table behind. By some miracle, it didn't break. Instead, you lay there; with the man wedged between your thighs. You were squirming from being violently winded. Yet, it didn't take long for you to heal, the dark figure let out a low rumble of what could only be described as chuckling as he watched you whimper through the process.  
   
"I wouldn't need to if you just get the hell out of my house!" You screamed, trying to bellow the comment between gasps was almost a test of endurance. Only now did you see who was fighting you, the man who wore a bone white mask and a bad temper.   
   
The Reaper. There was talk of him in the industry of killing, gruesome tales and vulgar acts of heinous degrees. Jamison had explained his "Fuckin' rowdy fun time..." encountering with the black leather clad sadist, the shotgun barrel against the fellow Australian's temple kind of fun, to say the least Roadhog had likely fought the Wraith off for his lanky friend.

"I came to offer a proposal." The wraith hummed.  
   
"Who did I piss off to get a visit—let alone an offer from you?" You growled low in your throat. The claws of his gloves pressed into your waist, moving down over your hips and digging in at the top of your thighs, forcing a groan from you as the streaks of cuts showed from the tracks of crimson. "Was it Christopher Phillip? Tell him if he wants to die he can come fight me like the dickless– " he interrupted you by digging his talons deeper into your skin. "You—" The Reaper leaned forward and sighed with little actual clarity, blowing black smoke into your face, sharp red irises burned holes into yours.   
   
"—Wasted your chance to play dead." The tone of his voice was more of an annoyed snap, he arched back and death stared you from behind the mask. The fact he was trying to shame you made your eyes see red fury. "All it took was six years for you to go straight back to dealing with the scum of Coldsonte."

"I don't deal with him. Not to brag but, I did kill him," Your accent was giving your voice a distinct twang to it.  
   
"I expected nothing less from you, honestly." He laughed a guttural sound and seemed to actually humour in your comment. "My offer is, join Talon; or suffer."  
   
"Why is it that I always get recruited like this?" You laughed sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "Do you even know who the hell you're playing the arch villain with, Danny phantom?" With one fluent motion, he shifted his grip to your wrists, forcing them above your head and you back into the glass; instinctively you pulled away as he towered over you in an arch.

Leaning down, he hovered his breathing inches from your face, his voice practically whispered the next remark—a voice that was somewhat gravely familiar as it rumbled behind a cold, sturdy mask.

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with, I know you very, very well." You shivered from the sultry, but starkly aggressive voice close to your ear, sensitive hearing had its downsides, but his voice was familiar.

A similar grumble of accent that made your subconscious mind ache.   
   
"Now...You're going to join Talon or I'm going to gut you like a little helenic lamb, ¿entiendes, chispa?"  
   
"Well, fuck me sideways!" You cackled, "The Wraith's got a honey tongue, huh?" Glaring at him as you slowly tried to reach for the ouzo bottle. "You're a long way from the American border, idiota." You sledged, feeling no moral implication devouring you for the xenophobic slur.  
   
The bottle was something you could use it as a weapon if this situation continued to maintain this escalated tension. "Got a soft spot for Spanish, mi amor? Mi reina?" He challenged your steadfast anger for only a second, whilst you maintained a death stare. Even while trying and failing not to take the familiar words to heart, a weight in you stomach ached and so too did a deep, sad reminiscence.

"αυ γαμήσω," Your grip neared the displaced bottle, anger surging as you had twisted the effect he had caused into offence. "I know you do." Reaper chuckled sarcastically behind the mask as smog billowed out slowly, your grip wrapped around the hilt of the bottleneck and you shuffled it tighter into your fist. "Because after I had said it, your pupils blew out, and you looked all grey, I won—" Before the Reaper could even finish the sentence, you had sent a few hundred volts into him and violently smashed the glass bottle over his hood, with a deafening crack– the bottle splinted into halves and shattered, you horse kicked him with both legs away from you.   
   
Poised to buck him again, you tried to sit up against the slippery tabletop, Reaper stumbled for a moment, groaned as he cupped the side of his head with the palm of his gloved hand before rushing back to you with an intimidating level of anger. Reaper roared out in rage, the electricity had tried to penetrate the leather of his gear and deflected into the open air as it faded.

But, he let his fury get the better of him for only a second, lifting you and smashing you back on to the table. Finally shattering the glass, making a large shard go cleanly into your shoulder. Reaper still held you down as you cringed at the lodged piece of glass sticking through you.

"Mazel tov!" You snickered mockingly, looking down at the impalement, then to the shattered bottle on the floor below.  
   
"Still fighting like a fucking thug, Sparky." There was a pause and you could hear him growl, the nickname felt familiar in the way he said it.   
   
"Sparky? Who the hell are you?" You peered into the eye cavities of his mask. Reaper treated your question like it was rhetorical, ignoring it completely. "One final time. Join Talon." He huffed, smoke billowed out of the mask again as he toyed with the glass lodged in your shoulder.  
   
"I want to know how you know-" He tapped it deeper with his free gauntlet as you spoke making you hiss and you heard a discordant sound from him. Your head rolled back from the adrenaline, twisting up in agony as he played with the glass.

"Yes, or no."   
   
"You know what?" You stared him down and something inside of you begrudgingly recognised the repeating of history, once again, recruitment from a shadowy figure. "I'll do it, isn't my first time being recruited like this." You seethed, "Now answer my question, asshole."

"All I hear is incessant yapping." Reaper grumbled to himself in a vile tone. "Like a lapdog with rabies." Without hesitation he ripped the glass out of your shoulder, making you slur as you started healing instantly.

Then the Wraith's heavy hold grabbed your lower back, making you straddle on what was most likely the belts on his hips as he slid you back on the kitchen top. You flinched when he bounced you up to recalibrate his grip, feeling leather and tactical belts hit directly on an explicit spot you growled in warning, feeling a distant heat spark slightly as the glass crunching under his boots stopped. Reaper's glare was fixated on your face, on your eyes more specifically.   
   
"What, cuckboy?" You snapped loudly and wrapped a hand around his neck, he chuckled again and you felt the smooth vibrations of his voice rumble in his throat like the purr of a high performance sports car. "I'm not a stupid bimbo, try that and I'll paint the floor with your intestines."   
   
"I have claws and my shotguns, you have nothing. You'll be dead before you can speak." After adjusting himself so he was wedged directly between your thighs, your body curled below his as you skewed against the splash back.   
   
"Death favours me far more than it does you, Reaper." You spat, the container of butter fell into the sink and the plate skidded, the toast slipped onto the bench next to you as the plate hit the ground with a shatter.  
   
"What a shame."  
   
"Break more of my porcelain, and I'll break your neck." Your eyes traced down to the fragmented plate and you grumbled again.  
   
"Lighten up, Sparky." He continued, still not lowering his hood, reaching for the clasps of his mask. With a click, you could hear it come off. Your body tensed, pupils constricting into small black dots in sheer shock. Gloved palms lightly held your face. The same grumpy look, the same scowl and the same beard. He had discolourations on his face, his still somewhat brown skin made them appear more defined. He was almost the same, but there was strange patching, maybe a single tone off on his jaw. However, he didn't have any white in his eyes; they were black, an utterly soulless sclera. His glowing irises were a hell fire red.  
   
"Γαβριήλ?" Then the blinding white searing of anger swelled in you, lunging forwards you wrapped one of your hands around his neck, and balled the other into a fist. Full of unfaltering rage you tried to land a punch but he grabbed your fist with his glove. You tried to hit his face again with your other hand but instead, he jerked his head out of the way, it made a swift sound, the air around your punch being torn from the sheer force. "Gabriel Reyes, you son-of-a-bitch!"  
   
Gabriel was taken back at the display of fury, wrapping his arms around you in a restraining hold, making your hands lock under you, practically squishing you against him, the slight discomfort of pressure on your chest made you wheeze while the air was forced out of your lungs as he tightened you into his body.  
   
"That's enough." Gabe growled close to your ear and you hissed, thrashing some more in an involuntarily defensive reaction. His apparent breathing was slow and controlled. The tone of his voice in your ear was gritty, although it was clearer now. No longer distorted by the mask, strikingly similar to the voice you once knew better than your own. "Enough, Sophia." Gabriel cooed and sighed densely. It hushed you instantly, something animalistic in hearing your name in a familiar voice pacified you. "I hate you, Gabriel, I hate you so much." You wheezed coldly, repeating the words without any actual truth to it, an ache in your heart forming slowly as you let the encapsulating warmth of having somebody you cared for— that you had assumed had died holding you close again. The sudden feeling of security made you melt into him, going limp out of emotional exhaustion. The leather of his chest stretched, making slightly strained noises as he inhaled deeply. Gabe unlocked his grip and straightened up abruptly. You were still in an awkward position, straddling him with a leg on either side of his hips.  
   
"You should have stayed dead. You had a way out." You huffed, he let out another low grumble before sighing as you slumped down against the splash back and rubbed the bridge of your nose, a simple nervous twitch.   
   
"I could say the exact same thing to you."  
   
"You're the Reaper, Gabriel—and if you've forgotten, I can't die." You half joked, he sulked for a moment. "For godsakes, you egotistical prick. You've been running around like a vengeful cockrel with his head cut off. Why didn't you come find me?" You began to scold him, Gabe sighed again, "I would have, but there was no info on your whereabouts."  
   
"I wasn't hiding, you stubborn idiot." You admitted openly, not caring about his response. "Obviously." He must have briefly forgotten the current clothing you were wearing because, after a short time of truce, he ever so slightly raised a brow at the realisation, the pads of his palms settled on the peak of your hips. "That little side-eye explains your handsiness earlier." You rolled your eyes and let your lip skew up in annoyance. "I wasn't expecting company, you think I'd want to fight a terrorist with my ass out?"   
   
"Well, I'm not going to say it's something I don't want you doing with me, a terrorist, such as myself." With an animalistic purr, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours, smirking as the red of his irises tried to study your expression, his eyes still clouded with what you only could assume to be some very, very dirty thoughts. There was a moment of consideration, as if weighing his chances of making the reunion far more explicit.  
   
"Head out of the gutter, Gabe." You jeered, "You might give yourself an aneurysm."

Gabriel stayed pressed practically face to face with you and you folded in, you snorted lightly as his eyes remained locked onto yours, Gabe immediately grinned wolfishly and moved his face to nestle into your neck, burying his face in your wavy hair. You expected him to take it a step forward, but welcomed the simple affection of him just relaxing. He held you there for a while as you synced with his breathing. What you really want to do is either grab the man you loved by the face and headbutt him repeatedly or kiss the bastard and cry because you thought he was dead and holy crap did you miss him; and honestly, that's troubling you... slightly.

You looked over to the toast next to you, picking it up and taking a bite of the bread before returning your gaze to him. "Keep being an ass and see where it gets you."  
   
He chuckled heartily, leaned in and nuzzled your temple, his beard rubbing against you and the grip on your hips slid under your thighs and squeezed lightly. "It still gets me between these thighs, apparently." He said in an almost mocking way, smirking and raising his eyebrow.  
   
"I'm about two-seconds away from electrocuting you, Gabe." You made empty threats, your almost drowsy expression in full view. "Christ, I've missed how you say my name—" Gabriel paused and hummed lowly, he opened his mouth as if to respond sweetly, but an alert sound echoed from a device on his hip and he rolled his eyes.  
   
Grabbing his mask from beside you on the kitchen tabletop he huffed. "Get up– " he stated, "Now. Get up. We have to go."  
   
You groaned, stretching under the looming shadow of the ex-Commander-turned-Wraith staring down at you ominously as he clipped the bone coloured mask back over his face and pulled the hood over his head. You pushed yourself off the bench and regained your balance. Innocently reaching past the Reaper, you decided he was more like that Wraith persona with that mask on, you retrieved the one handgun you had retained from your Overwatch days. A matte charcoal pistol, similar to the old fashioned aesthetic of a handgun, save for the high tech updates and modifications; you pulled it from the drawer and tossed it on the kitchen table top. The Valency-0177, a tactical discharge pistol-rifle hybrid adapted with a calibrated taser and a stun bullet converter that would circuit your surge into a round if you needed be.  
   
"And don't dirty my carpet" You huffed, strutting past him again as you walked into your room.

"Boo-hoo." His boots putting pressure on the flooring made you internally grumble, the fucking bastard is gonna leave stains. "So then, where have you been, Gabby?" Bending over as you opened the drawer of clothes in your room you heard him make a humoured chuff underneath his breath, almost silently, if it wasn't for your good hearing you would have missed it.  
   
"Went underground for a while, proved to myself that Overwatch really was a corrupt sham of malicious bureaucratic dogs." He hummed, far too unwavered by the statement. "You needed to prove that? Gabriel, we both knew that. The UN had a hidden agenda and you got thrown under the bus for it, Talon found its way in. Firstly Amari, then Rein's retirement and then you and Jack. They pulled the carpet out from under you." You admitted with barely any real consideration for his feelings. Gabriel was a bitterly smart man, he knew a fact when he heard it. He could handle tough love, even still, he sighed heavily.

"A controlled stream of leaks from an undefined source to the greater media at a steady trickling pace, salting the earth around." His tone was the same as all those years ago. With your back turned you could almost perfectly imagine him standing in his Blackwatch fatigues behind you. But, there was a grit to his voice that echoed in his throat like death when he had the mask on. "Hate to say it, but I told you so." You stumbled back and sat on your bed as you slipped on some black compression tights. "You're none the wiser, Sparky." He was keeping an eye on what you were packing.   
   
"Look at yourself, Gabby, you got the short straw." You sighed and swiped a bottle of wine off the bedside table and took a sip. "You can thank Moira for this." More gear fell into the bag, lots of knives. He watched tentatively as a few more pieces of clothing with logos and armour were stuffed in, throwing a few sets of underwear and socks, plus your old gear bag. You slipped on a black hoodie and glided a pair of heavy duty sneakers on with ease. "You can tell me what that whore did later, you crybaby." Throwing the large duffle bag over your shoulder, walking down the tiled corridor, swiping your handgun from the bench top, slipping it into the part between your hip and your pants and clearing your throat as you walked to where he stood at the back door.  
   
He stayed in your way with a very unimpressed stare behind his mask. "Move Gabe, I need to lock up." You grumbled. Deadlocking the back door, you walked ahead of Reaper.   
   
"Reaper," He stated, "...No Gabe—not around these people, just like I won't be calling you Sophia, Enigma."  
   
"Whatever, but under all that edge, Reaper, you're still my Reyes." You trudged through the backyard, he grunted approvingly in response.   
   
What you didn't expecting was there to be a heavily armoured van in the back lane of your street. Laughing under your breath for a moment, you stood next to it; examining the black paint job and absurdly opaque tinted windows. Instantly, a bag was slipped over your face as the side door slid open abruptly. "No head bag? That's a little unprofessional," You jeered. You heard the annoyed sound of a man swear at you under his breath at you. The trip was a haze of trance like rest and half consciousness. At one point you assumed that you had been moved into a jet as you heard the sound of plane engines humming and the smell of filtered ozone being funnelled into a cargo bay.


	3. The Trifecta of Talon

Finally, when the bag slipped off, you cringed at the harsh light of a concrete room, thank god it wasn't a torture chamber; there were some chairs and a table. You stood up and stretched taking a deep breath before feeling a chill shake through you. "Boo!" Two gloved hands with nicely painted fake nails grabbed your shoulders making a few sparks of electricity spark and glitter around you out of surprise as one of the bolts connected to the floor, leaving a light burn mark. "Dios mío, that's a nice trick..."

The woman had an interesting voice, it sounded like something a private school girl would be like, sly and misleading at the same time; with an accent. You turned to face her, she was shorter than you by a fair amount. Assuming she was about 5'6" while you were a little over 5'10". Purple to pink ombré seemed to be the main theme of her outfit. "The name's Sombra. World's best hacker..." she gloated openly.  
   
You gazed down at her with a salty look, before you noticed the sheer irony of the situation. "Nobody gives themselves that title, you're just a narcissist." 

"If that's what you think, but you... you're a really interesting person, señorita. I've uncovered a fair few intriguing things: That testing Overwatch put you through, those few 'incidents' in Cairo..." Sombra grinned wickedly as she recounted, like the Cheshire Cat.

Your blood began to boil as she spoke, the blinding fury of intrusion nearing. "And my number one personal favourite, even though it's not super secret... fraternisation." Sombra arched up to your ear, her hand patted your shoulder lightly and she laughed, undulating the digits in a wave pattern. Your face twisted into an aggressive wince and you growled lowly, she whispered with a cruel intent, "...I loved those cute little dates you and Gabe would go on... he was so happy, so affectionate, such a sweetheart!" She cackled, trying to get you to play along. "Nothing like he is now, I bet—" before she could finish you wrapped a hand around her throat, guiding her back into the wall with a heavy slam.

"Now you listen here, runt. You either shut your mouth or I can give you a first hand example of what I can do to another person with even the slightest physical contact, let alone this." You stated with a fury she wouldn't dare challenge, pressing your fingers into her neck, leaving clear bruises on her dark skin. "Please, give me a reason to fry you like steak."

"Aye! Okay, okay—I'm sorry—" She gasped and you loosened your grip. Sombra stayed deathly quiet for only a few seconds before snickering maniacally, walking back to her seat she dangled her feet as you pulled yourself up onto the table, lying back against it, making your hoodie stretch up and exposing a small slither of your abs to the cold air.  
   
You heard a pair of heels strut on the concrete around you before the halogen light above you was shadowed as the lady leaned over you. "Bonjour petite étincelle" Her voice was lacking of any monotonic depth as she spoke. The lady's French accent was heavy and lulled you into a false sense of security for a shifting moment. Catching the sight of the tinted skin, apale, lifeless violet, a strange headpiece and a Lycra suit exposing her chest.   
   
"I am the Widowmaker." The words flowed in that same that cried out in blatant disinterest. You didn't interject her statement, and Widow said nothing else, putting both of her Disney princess hands on your face, squishing it slightly as you finally looked up at her.

Her grip tightened making her nails dig in. "I know who you are, Widow. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you aren't catatonic." The disregard for any true care or verbal obligation of etiquette. The woman clicked her tongue, making 'tsk tsk tsk' noises. "Poor, poor Sophia. Couldn't run far from your past could you?"

"This Enigma will put 100,000 volts into that gaping, inky black abyss you call a heart." You caught Sombra's smirk out of the corner of your eye as you threatened the assassin. "Oi, shut your mouth, Latina." You snapped at the hacker. Long ago, you had lunch with Amélie in the Parisian watchpoint a few times. She was a lovely lady, Gerard was a great man. They loved each other. She was kind and sweet, before the kidnapping and the brainwashing and that shit.  
   
"At times like this, I fondly remember putting several high calibre rounds into that stunningly toned body of yours" the grip on your face loosened as she slid her hands tenderly down your sides, before slipping her hands under the hoodie and forcing her nails into your skin; drawing a fair amount of blood as your tissue healed, pushing her out, you grumbled under your breath as she ripped the lingering digits out, tapping the stained fingers on your v-line.  
   
"Allow me to make this clear to the both of you, again: if you touch me, I can send at least 100,000 volts into you," A small shimmer of lightning flickered between her hand and your navel. She grinned sadistically lifting her hand and shaking the blood from it. "But of course, is that not the reason the wraith is so content on you being here, aside from companionship?" She cooed dryly. "The more malicious power he can control and assert on others the better, non?"  
   
"Piss off." You spat at her viscously, rolling your eyes. Widow hummed to herself sardonically, before pulling a seat from under the table, she placed it a few meters from you as Sombra watched curiously as you sat up to examine the red liquid from the lacerations. They healed uniformly, as Amélie, as if nothing had happened, handed you a handkerchief. "Wouldn't want to hurt his cargo." There was a second of hesitation, be it only momentary before you took it from her hand and swabbed it over your wounds, by the end it was soaked with blood leaving your belly free of the copper stain. The thin incisions had completely dissipated as the Latino girl took mental notes. "So, it's true you really can heal wounds that fast?" She questioned in a strange interest, like a toddler asking her parents about the world.  
   
"Mind your own business, παράσιτο." Your eyes glared up at her, huffing in an annoyed tone while the girl shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "Sombra—where is Reaper? He's simply taking too long-" the French woman to your right spoke uniformly, probably about as impatient as she was egotistical and cruel. "Aye, he's coming down the hall, I can see him on the cams, stress-less spidey" The Latino hacker smiled after receiving another frown from Widow at the joke, you grumbled only to catch Sombra tense in her seat as the sound of the door creaking abruptly echoed, her eyes darted to the entrance and you saw a figure waft into the room from under the door in a black billowing smog. 

"You're late, Reaper." The French woman grumbled as she filed the blood out from under her nails.  
   
The cloud of black almost undulated across the room, he leaned against the far wall as he rematerialised. "I don't run by your schedule. I'm allowed to take my time, Widowmaker." He hissed lowly at the woman; you rolled your eyes at the undertones of sardonicism from the comment, Widow also rolled her eyes and kept sharpening her nails. Scanning the room behind his mask, you felt him stare at the bloody cloth next to you and the stained colour of red on your hands, you saw the glow of his eyes flow down to Widowmaker's fingers, lightly discoloured from fresh blood.  
   
His head snapped up to watch Widowmaker as she continued to act oblivious to the stare burning into her. "Really?" He growled, crossing his arms, shaking his head disapprovingly.  
   
"What did you expect?" The woman hummed under her breath.

"A little self control." The wraith growled low in his throat. "Says the hypocritic." She scoffed and went back to tending to her hands. You huffed in a vaguely amusing way, for him to expect any sort of charitability from her is a joke. 

"Now that I've met the trifecta of Talon, what happens?" Sombra obviously lit up at the prospect of a conversation. "I think we're getting a prep talk, reina."

You stared daggers at the hacker once more, she'll have to learn not to call you names she knew the wraith once did and likely still will. 

"Who wants to play Russian roulette to pass the time?" You chuffed lightly. "Widow?" You cocked your sidearm previously stashed as you brought it up from your hip, lining it up at the French assassin's head. The display made Widowmaker's lip twitch up.   
   
Abruptly the intercom in the room started buzzing. "24-0091 apologies, we're running off clock, reschedule to later time" There were various degrees of anger at the wasted time. Reaper growled and cussed before slamming a gauntlet back into the wall, making the concrete crack and chip and fall to the floor in a myriad of dusty debris. Sombra whined throwing her head back, powering up the hologram again and typing something in as she mumbled. Widow simply stood up and dusted herself off, with an annoyed look on her face. And then there was you, the passive aggressive, self-deprecating mess of bitterness—some trauma and a bit of insomnia in the mix as well. 

"What now, comrades? Ein reich, ein führer, right?" Seething the sarcastic remark as you fell back against the table. 

"You wait, Engima." Reaper walked to the middle of the concrete room and answered your rhetorical question which was unexpected. You scoffed cynically at the order, before the fall and way before even really knowing him as anything but Commander Reyes—he would always be telling you to shut up or sit down or wait or other dumb shit.   
   
"Or what, Reaper?" You snapped.

"I am not in the mood." The wraith straightened, his black figure rolled its shoulders. 

"Moody, and what a shame." You mocked again, straightening up. "You've got no authority over me anymore." Twisting up the corner of your lip to show canines you spat venom with the words. A low growl seeped out of him as thin wisps of smoke left his mask. Reaper turned and looked you dead in the eyes. The red of his glare was defined by his pupils shrinking with anger. He was practically radiating fury. Letting out a vile chuckle he pointed one of his clawed fingers back at you. "If I don't have any authority over you, then why are you sitting here?" You heard Sombra scoff in surprise at Reaper's comment breaking the tension for a second, before immediately silencing herself.  
   
"You know exactly why, Casanova." This was an act, a simple tactic to establish a false lack of trust, you assumed. If you two seemed to be so privy to fight, there would be no mercy for each other, thus no visible relationship. He seemed to understand that much of your performance. 

Even still, he didn't hold back on venting some of his fury.  
   
"Do I really?" He taunted spitefully. There was a moment of quiet until you pushed yourself off the table slowly. "You wanna fight? Let's fight." You kicked a chair to the corner of the room and cracked your knuckles before spreading your arms out.  
   
"Come on then." He said.   
   
You lunged the leather clad Wraith almost instantaneously. He stammered back and hit the ground on his haunches. You landed several punches on his throat, while he was recoiling you began tightening a grip around his neck. Reaper twisted himself to kick you off him, you slid back before getting to your feet and charging him again. You started fighting hand to hand, but he had the benefit of armour unlike you, you managed to land a swift jab in the throat and you heard him cough lightly.   
   
"C'mon Gabby, you can do better than this..." You mumbled just loud enough for only him to hear.

The insult was not worth the retaliation that ensued, with a growl he sprung at you, grabbing you by the neck he held you above the ground as you kicked at him, he dug the gauntlet's sharp ends in making you writhe as you felt it puncture your windpipe. Lifting your legs to twist around either side of one of his arms, you jerked your legs back, hearing a satisfying pop noise and a hiss of discomfort come from him. 

The millisecond of weakness was all you needed, writhing and squirming from his now loose grip, he attempted a head lock but you sunk your canine teeth into a weak part of his outfit, hearing him hiss as you looped a foot behind his knee so he fell to the floor. Instantly getting back into position to hit him a few more times in the face. It didn't look like it was affecting him, there was no sign of him flinching when you realised your fists no longer made contact, you were punching the concrete floor as a heavy fog swirled and convulsed around you in a blinding darkness.  
   
"Who's the cheater now?" You hissed as Wraith form wafted through around and you felt a cold chill sting your bones, it stunk of rot and fresh blood, shotgun shells and gunpowder. 

"You're just bitter that you don't have the upper hand anymore." He laughed sinisterly, a deep gritty sound.

"Bitter? You honestly think I'm bitter? I'll show you bitter." You pushed yourself back against the wall and kept your feet ready to kick in anticipation, bringing your pistol up from your hip you fired a shot into the distorted smoke and heard it ricochet against the far wall as Sombra made a spooked noise, swearing in unintelligible Spanish.

You unloaded the cloud jumper's ammo into the smog as a subconscious release of anger, if bullets didn't hit him at your house, it wouldn't hit him now. The trigger clicked erratically as an indication you'd wasted all of your ammo. 

"For someone as notoriously good at thug brawling mindlessly as you—that's a rookie error." The cloud half manifested itself back as Reaper, the white mask staring into your eyes and the hell fire red blaring in the semi opaque pitch black around you; swiftly curling his gauntlet into a fist he struck you right in the lower abdomen and you retched dryly, "I'll be taking this–" with his other gauntlet he snatched your pistol from your hands and tossed it to the corner of the room underneath Widowmaker's chair. He growled and quickly moved his claw to start clamping you to the wall. In turn, you let out a surge of electricity. It didn't seem to work. He was still mostly in a dematerialised form so the hand you had wrapped over his translucent arm simply mimicked the appearance of lightning surging in a cloud. When he finally became solid he wrapped the claw around your throat and slid you higher up the wall. With one final effort, you lifted your foot and chin kicked him at full force in the face, his neck whiplashed back. His face was mostly unharmed—apart from a split lip. His shoulder was dislocated. Yet, the thing that angered him most was the distinctive sound of his mask unclipping off its clasps. The object itself was sturdy, it swung off before hitting the ground, his eyes drifted to see where it had fallen. Gabe's skin was more discoloured since the last time you saw it, it was a strange tinge of grey and beige—there were deep black bags under his eyes, the scars on his face had shifted from off skin toned to a shade of midnight. His lip was twitched up in anger, exposing a rather intimidating set of carnivorous teeth, all sharp and built to rip flesh.  
   
He didn't turn away from you. 

Had they not seen his face? 

"Looks like her experiments weren't so safe after all." You laughed dryly, and honestly, it sounded vaguely like a half-assed attempt at choking as you dangled in his grip against the wall. A guttural chuckle was all the response you got from his now exposed face, the gritting of predatory teeth and bright red anger in his eyes. 

The force of the wringing around your neck got drastically harder. Keeping yourself alive just enough to not die from oxygen deprivation. Forever teetering on the edge but never being able to fall off. Your regeneration wouldn't let you die. You jeered as you watched his rage slowly reach its maximum, a gelatinous black substance gurgled up your mangled oesophagus. His grip got to a fatal point, you knew he was close to breaking your neck, even through the gauntlets the feeling of bone was distinct, you glared at him, the look in his eyes changed to something dull, seemingly guilty and regretful.   
   
He stopped, loosening his grip. Widowmaker's gaze was fixed on you, Reaper didn't need to turn feel her stare burning into the two of you. He couldn't confide or show anything but disinterest with them watching, not right now. Your eyesight started to speckle with the white, blues and the reds of phantom lights as you regained respiratory ability. With a moment of thought after realising that he had almost dragged his metaphorical heel through the line in the sand, he dropped you to the floor, the substance that had an almost inky pigmentation trickled down the side of your mouth, you felt the burning acidic feeling of it oozing out of your nose, too. His arm was slightly dripping with an almost murky coloured version of blood from where your electricity had—unknowingly to you; successfully connected.    
   
"That was entertaining." He leaned down to grab his mask, staying out of sight from the two women and clipping it back into place, you made a crooked laugh of distress, bringing your hand up to wipe your mouth, opening your jaw and swiping across cleaning the viscous ink. The wound on Reaper's arm instantly stopped bleeding and began to string itself back together with visible tendrils of black smog that billowed and undulated around the wound. Widowmaker looked at you for a moment. You rolled your eyes behind him and grumbled in a distorted tone, hand pressing against the side of your neck, and your head was skewed to the side. "Very entertaining indeed." Her comment was accompanied by a sweetly intrigued noise as the French woman looked past him to you trying to get to your feet. You groaned feeling the bruises from his grip on your neck healing over and your windpipe straighten after being crushed and punctured. Taking a sharp inhale as you felt a rib reform with an audible crack that made the woman smirk.  
   
"You nearly broke my neck, bastard." A vulgar sight ensued as you seemingly bent over and let a steady stream of black sludge string like a non-Newtonian drool out of your mouth, spitting a few times and groaning.

He watched the scene play out for a moment before sweeping you into his hold and quite literally, drop you onto the table. A hiss of pain escaped you as you rolled onto your back and popped your wrist into place. Reaper looked at you for a moment, you weren't sure what the shape of the black abysses of death he called eyes behind the mask indicated. The sounds of your jugular reforming slowly mimicked somebody jumping on eggshells; audible bubbling and liquidating noises faintly came from you.  
   
His gaze was still locked on you.  
   
Grabbing the crook of his arm he forcefully realigned his shoulder back into its socket. Sombra got up and walked, making a bee-line to the exit. "Well, thanks for the entertainment, but I've got a series to catch up on" she skipped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Widow made an emotionless huff. "I too, have places to be, don't kill each other while I'm gone, I want to be there to watch." Almost mechanically, Widowmaker ran her hand through her high ponytail, smoothing down any loose hairs and began strutting out. She stopped next to you and tidied your hoodie with a light dusting, before furrowing her brows in a display of bitterness and snaking out the door.  
There was a moment of divine silence. 

Reaper turned to you slowly. "An interrogation room." He almost sounded like he was confessing to you, "...Just like the first time." 

You glared at him with hooded eyes and groaned, air wheezed from your lungs. "I didn't land on your coffee mug this time, however." Your neck was straightening up and was almost fully healed. You fell back and rolled on to your belly in a writhing fit as you tried to overcome the sickness. Drooling the same inky sludge as your head hung over the table slightly, now the only sound was you heaving as your body recuperated itself. You looked up with a definitive lightheadedness in your body. Reaper took a step forward and you felt something heavy on your back. "Is it that bad?" It was more hushed that you expected him to speak, confirming his question was genuine. Opening your mouth to answer, all you could do was let out a strained groan as the room around you kept spinning.

"I'm fine," your body jerked forward as you felt bile in your stomach threaten to come up, the same black goo trickled down the side of you mouth. Hearing him sigh, you felt the same gauntlets that were wrapped around your throat card through your hair carefully,  the claw-like tips threaded through like a comb. "You don't seem to be," He scolded you; another thing that seemed to stay from his time since being the Blackwatch Commander. "Are you sure?"  
   
"Just give me a minute." You huffed. "I'm just motion sick."  
   
"Anyone else would have been dead, Sparky." He admitted honestly. You laughed a sickening gasping sound from your healing throat. "Anyone else would've been burnt to a crisp." You teased him, he scoffed. "Fair call."  
   
"On another note, I'm going to need carbs and supplements. You know that." You sat up, his glove lifted off your upper back. "That's if they want me to stay in peak condition when I work for them." You stated, he knew all this. You pushed yourself off the table and stood before him. You held your ground and turned around to face him, you didn't realise how close he was to you until that point, he grumbled and a black smoke vented from his mask.   
   
It dispersed like a thick billow of smog as it wafted over your face. "Of course."   
   
The smog was surprisingly warm.  
 


	4. If looks could kill, which one of us is dead?

A man in a labcoat approached you with a few containers of carbohydrate and mineral supplements; Honestly, you had wanted actual food not this pill popping nonsense 

"One a day, should be 100% of your daily dietary requirements. Come to 3F if you need more. Go to the end of the corridor and make a sharp left. Should be first door on the right." He spoke mechanically, with no emotion, rubbing his hands together like he was scabbing off dried blood that wasn't even there. You knew that subconscious action. It was something people do when they are ashamed or disgusted with themselves, trying to wash the wrong from their hands. The only comparison you could make to his professionalism and blatant disassociation was to that of the Nazi scientists of WW2, or even the way Torbjörn would lower his mechanical claw when he saw war-omnic parts and hulls mangled over a battle field, it was guilt in its most basic form; self disgust.  
   
That Talon scientist would have done horrible things to people.  
   
Human experimentation most likely.  
   
Amélie would have almost certainly been brainwashed by people like him. The days consisted of simply training and getting examined by Talon scientists and doctors—they didn't care about your health—it was all about your abilities. Two weeks passed like a blur, you still didn't have your own, at least somewhat useable dorm. Due to some surprisingly unknown reason. So you stayed in the area where the agents slept, in your own little guest room of course. It still smelt vaguely of blood and vomit but you made do. You'd made a makeshift mask using a cloth you had ripped from a grunt's top when he stared at you for too long; you made it into a bandana type cover up. Nightmares still plagued you, although the nights were sleepless, sitting wherever you could, climbing around that little fucking room and working out until you couldn't breathe; anything to stop conscious memories drifting through your thoughts.When you visited the proposed level, you did see electricians coming out of the proposed site once every few the days. Sombra had a mission with Widowmaker; a data collection assignment. But still, Sombra did not stay at the Talon base. She likely lived somewhere in South America. That meant you'd be stuck with Reaper for a few days. That night you stayed up in the training hall, at least you think it was a hall. You wore a pair of black compression skins and a singlet. There were boxing bags—and you punched a few off their bearings, it had been years since you boxed or spared without actual threat and you still had your dangerously hard hit. Some Talon agents watched on in horror as you punched holes into the canvased leather of the bags with bare fists, snapping their links at the force, sending them skidding across the floor with sizeable scorch marks from your lightning surging through. Somebody of authority must have been watching you because you saw the lesser agents disperse, of course, it was Reaper that had to come down to the party and see what all that routine training and sparring in Blackwatch amassed to.

He walked in, his usual swagger and undying ego followed him even in the outfit, just more ominously.

Your earphones bounced as you sent another fist into a new bag.

"Are you serious?" His voice echoed throughout the room and over the music in your ears.  
   
You pulled an earpiece out. "What?" You announced and put your hands on your hips. Reaper growled and crossed his arms over his chest, the gauntlets clinking together for a second before he made a long annoyed grumble and took a step closer. "Your footing." His voice quietened, but the tonality of annoyance was still strong. Rolling your eyes as you stood straight before positioning yourself in a correct way lethargically.  
   
There was a pause before he sighed. "Punch." He huffed and gestured with one gloved gauntlet. You hit at full force, the industrial hinges connecting the weighted leather bag to the ceiling snapped. The punching bag hit the ground and the floor shook. 

"Good girl." Reaper chuffed approvingly, you scoffed at the praise and the irony that came with it. Hearing a whistle of surprise echo through the room as somebody opened the doors. A set of footsteps entered, not combat boots but leather suit shoes. Turning you caught Reaper growl ever so slightly under his breath. Security guards followed a well dressed man. The voice spoke as it walked past him to you. You watched the Wraith's gauntlet curl into a fist on one side and he looked almost insulted by how his eyes squinted behind his mask.  
   
"You must be Enigma, didn't take you long to fit in, did it, honey?"

"I didn't need weeks." The material around your mouth skewed slightly as you spoke. 

"I was hoping to have given you a tour, but I trust Reaper already did." He laughed before patting you on the back, he pressed his fingers in and kept his palm on the curve of your waist—you tensed. A slow stare filtered between his hand on you and his eyes, as your brows furrowed in disgust. You looked past him to see Reaper; the wraith was very, very unhappy. He despised this man more and more every second of unwanted contact he had with you. Like some sort of predator guarding his kill.  
   
"Why are you wearing a bandana over that pretty mouth?" Vialli fingers undulated and undying rage was the only emotion you could convey to the ex-Commander with your eyes alone; he reciprocated by growling low in his throat, loud enough for the Playboy to hear.  
   
The man flinched when he heard the noise and looked to catch the death stare. "Shit, you really don't like me touching her, do you?" He chuckled to himself and looked back to you and you mimicked the glare, adding more expression than the wraith could with your brows creased in repulsion. "You're more pissed off than she is," He barked, scoffing momentarily.  
   
"You should be more afraid of me, than him." You brought a hand up and lifted his off, just before the apparent deputy of sorts scoffed. "Because if he wasn't being held by the balls in this situation you'd have been gutted. But, I could give a fuck less about beating you to a pulp."  
   
"Drop the attitude sweetheart, it doesn't look good on you." He mused and started walking out with his flock of guards. You shot the wraith a look, bobbed your head for a moment as an appreciative gesture and went back to working out. The muscles in your abdomen flexing and aching as you did drills, Reaper leaned against the wall as you did sit ups, mentally tallying the times you arched up. "...275" you exhaled hard and sat up fully.

"That all?" his stare trailed down onto you through the mask in an almost mocking way.

"Yeah. I'm too lazy to do more... Sorry, sweetheart." Your voice was straining from repeatedly catching your breath as you got to your feet. Walking over to the tap in the corner you ran your head under it before shaking it roughly, like a dog would.  
   
"Show a bit of professionalism, would you?"   
   
"Κάνω oτι θέλω." You shrugged and glanced back at him.   
   
"Always oppositional." His stare followed you as you strutted out, looking at the places where wounds once were, there was never any scarring, at least so he thought; but as you walked he caught sight of the slight, barely visible myriad of discolourations on your skin at the top of your shoulders as you passed under a different lighting, faint gashes and nearly invisible lacerations plagued your skin.  
   
You could practically hear him mentally writing notes and questions.  
   
You rubbed your shoulders and frowned, turning back for a second you confirmed your suspicion.  
   
He was staring. The bone mask turned indefinitely towards you, head skewed minutely, broad shoulders hunched up slightly and an interest blazing in his eyes. Reaper took a step.  
The faint ultraviolet lighting above you showed the issues faintly.

But he was reminded now. Another step, followed by another.You stood still, looking over your shoulder. Pupils blown wide in the lighting, brown irises shifting to an ultraviolet white. You could see the faint glowing in your vision. Reaper stood still, three metres behind you in the long corridor. "It's gotten worse." His voice echoed the guttural tone he had gained from the mask's distortion filter. "I know it has." You sighed, stretching an arm up to the tainted UV, the ghosted discolouration blared a more distinguished pigment from the light's intensity increasing. Bullet wound sized patches, slices from knives, scratches and small incisions.

"Nothing I can do." You sighed again, turning to face him. You knew there was new scarring on your face, Reaper didn't look away. He just studied it. "I'm used to it now, just means I can't go clubbing or raving under certain UV's." You joked as a way of breaking the tension.   
   
"I should've notified the doctors back whe–" His voice was softer than previously, more sincere. He took a pair of long steps, less than a metre from you.  
   
"Gabe." You interjected with a sharp whisper, unknowingly twitching up the long horizontal slash from one side of your face to the other, spanning over your nose. "It's not your problem." Still, the two mangled streaks of lacerations wrapping down your neck hadn't shifted his gaze away from your eyes.  
   
Reaper sighed, a jest in his voice quickly dissipating. "What's yours is mine, baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why buy glowsticks?


	5. Juiced up, in the non-illicit way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics in paragraph format indicate flashbacks

The common change rooms were disgusting and you cursed yourself for even entering. It practically smelt like piss and vomit, with a bit of death thrown in.  

You need to sleep. Is it worth the nightmares?  

You want to go home. You never had a home, if that's where your heart is, at least not anymore. You're tired.  

But do you want to sleep? No.  

You changed into shorts and left to go to the food hall. It stunk faintly of rotting blood and hard liquor. Everyone scampered out like rats, when you entered and you stole an unopened jug of tropical juice from the half working fridge. Turns out, all you had to do was shout to tell all the grunts to fuck off. It was probably the first few hours of the day when you finally walked out of the mess hall with the now half full container of juice, in the pair of short running shorts and the same low cut singlet.

You began strutting to the elevator. Pressing what your mind thought was a random button ended up being the floor where your 'team' resided. Your makeshift mask had bunched around your neck, the bandana now acted as a small scarf.  

You walked about halfway down before resting against the corridor.

You slid down with your back against the wall making your legs straighten out on the cold floor, opening your holovid before sculling the juice; racing yourself to finish it.  

Staring at the screen in front of you the phone's internal timer made the screen fade to darkness. You sat there in the pitch black.  

Folding your knees into your body the carton of juice dangled in your lazy grip.  

_The jeering of team mates blared in front of you as you sat on the sidelines, having consciously avoided being chosen, you watched Jesse limp to the bench beside you, after having received a thorough boxing from the Commander._

_"Damn, you copped it bad..." leaning slightly to scan the split lip and bloody nose of the cowboy, you grabbed his chin and tilted his head to check for other wounds, using your thumb to wipe some blood from the corner of his lip._

_"pfft, nah–" he smiled gingerly, running his tongue over the bleeding skin of his lip, shrugging lightly as he wiped his nostril._

_"—Plus, you're next" You were suddenly hyper aware at the comment, lifting your head up to crane over the other Blackwatch agents standing or crouching, observing._

_A twenty year old Australian with regeneration abilities and a bad temper, sure—you stuck out, but not for that—it was your reputation that made you unforgettable; not in a good way right now. "Your turn, Sparky. I ain't seen you do shit this whole time." The Commander spoke up, gesturing to you, with an obvious sense of impatience, he grumbled._

_You looked at him and half lidded your eyes in a weird scowl-like cringe of 'are you talking to me? I hope you aren't talking to me'. Looking to Jesse for a moment then to Beckett who had previously won a sparring session with O'Reilly, the man was assisting the other with some bandages that were being wrapped over his knuckles—you huffed in a vain frustration._

_"You waiting for an invitation?" He asked, the angered voice dripping with barely contained annoyance. "Pretty much." Scoffing, lethargically pulling yourself from your spot, you lazily stumbled to the mat, lifting the hoodie over your head and tossing it aside, opting for the standard issue singlet. When it finally got time on the mat to spar, you didn't buckle down, you just stood there, facing him. Reyes wrung his shirt, bringing it up to his face to wipe it for a moment; almost blinding you with dense muscles and a v-line that distracted you like a giant sign that said, "I'm really hot, see my abs?" in all capitals. Sure, your glance was sly enough to avoid being seen by the agents behind you. But, if Reyes was anything, he was observant; he caught your vision for  a millisecond and the hints of interest ever-so slightly teased on his face as he brought the shirt back over himself._

_"Showoff." You grumbled under your breath and sulked for a moment to yourself at being caught in the act, he rolled his shoulders; regarding you with an unimpressed expression as he levered back on his heels, getting into a stance. "If you cheat like last time–" his tone was stern, but he maintained a slightly concerning glimmer in his eye. "You're test dummy for the next year"_

_"Yeah, whatever διοικητής," You scoffed, raising your fists. "πάμε," Over the time you had known him he—as well as most others—had been involuntarily taught some Greek terms from you, so these were pretty basically comprehended as 'Commander' and 'let's go'._

_He didn't need a second request. Reyes came down on you as fast and heavy as a guillotine, massive fists raised, you panicked because you hadn't braced, poorly avoiding a right hook by jerking your head back, it lessened the power of the strike on your face; but, nevertheless it connected._

_You were matched in some way, he wasn't nearly as agile as you... and you could deal with his force; while his jabs spelled med-bay level injuries for others you levered them at full force in the sense of repairing, what would have scarred another only kept you down for about five-seconds. On the contrary, he was extremely strong and very intimidating; nevertheless, having one of those heavy punches to your body spelled pain, even if it wasn't a long term physical wound._

_Using this momentary unsteadiness of yours as you recoiled, he managed to loop a foot around the back of your knee, bringing a palm up to your neck and mercilessly choke slamming you to the ground, winding you badly. O'Reilly scoffed and you heard Jesse cringe with a sharp inhale._

_Within a minute he had you on the mat. He held you there for a moment and raised an eyebrow. "Just because you can handle the hits doesn't mean you should let them land." He spoke in a disciplinary tone, addressing not only you but the others as well._

_"Let's try that again." He huffed, "I want a little more actual effort this time, Sparky."_

_The Commander had almost instantly gotten back to his feet, realigning his stance as he prepared for another round. Getting to your feet, you wheezed once and exhaled hard, shifting your weight between your legs. You stepped back, sizing him up, breathing hard from the exertion. Your eyes traced where sweat trickled into the divot of his throat, he looked wild. He looked... really good. Reyes cracked his neck, raised his palms again in a defensive stance._

_"You had enough?" You scoffed, "Me? Never." Angela walked in, along with the tall figure of the Reinhardt, who tried his best to trot in quietly and sit on the bench, watching, leaning to ask the cowboy something Captain Amari sneaked beside him and took a seat too, she caught your vision and made a slight nod of vague acknowledgement at you._

_You looked at her, then turned back to Reyes. "My γιαγιά hit harder than that," you replied, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, before raising them both; you grinned, winking once and showing teeth, something that seemed to get under Reyes' skin enough that he shot forward, knocking you both to the ground. You landed flat on your back, throwing your arms up, the heavy weight of Reyes on your chest crushing all of the air out of your lungs. You managed to wrap a hand around one of Reyes' fists, hold him away, bucking and twisting your hips up in an effort to free yourself, death-rolling like an angry crocodile as you both wrestled with each other._

_"That's not fighting that's panicking—there's a difference." He growled, all your struggling did was make Reyes hold down harder, push your wrists down to the mat, legs clamping down to keep you steady. You snarled, digging your heels in, Reyes sliding up and tugging until he was underneath you, large hands holding one of your arms up in a mock restraining position, high above your head as he kept it in place. The other was prying at his leg. He tightened around your neck, at the moment he had started you went into a strange self aware state and stopped, your hand went limp looking around for a moment with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights, you became conscious of the fact your head was technically in his lap. Quickly drowning the thought you snapped your mouth in a violent display of fury and thrashed to little avail._

_"This—this is what not to do when you're being held in a choke hold." Reyes bit out, somewhat struggling to hold his ground as you bucked your hips and squirmed, trying desperately to pry him off, you could survive for minutes on end without air, but there was a sense of urgency right now. You started going slightly limp and your free arm relaxed from the oxygen deprivation and lack of mobility. The other arm still held tightly by the Commander. "Hard enough for ya?" His voice was husky and he was almost predatory in his grit._

_It was strange, wincing and trying to look up at him and piss him off more for your own amusement, than anything—but when you managed to turn to the side with some shaking of your head, digging your free hand into the top of his thigh, grabbing and scratching at the canvas pants._

_To his surprise, you had decided to, quite unnecessarily; allow one of your shoulders to dislocate and using the new loss of restrictions to land a swift jab upwards into Reyes' chin, he whiplashed back slightly. Whereby using his own weight against him, you thrashed enough to catch an angle that allowed you to push yourself off of him. You scrambled to get back to your feet as he almost mechanically stood, stammering back as you forced your arm back into its socket, it let out a pop, receiving an unanimous cringe from the on looking agents. He pulled his shirt down harshly, then pulled his pants higher up his hips._

_"That was a tie. Considering self inflicted injury isn't a constructive method of fighting for anyone other than you." Reyes wiped sweat off of his neck and a small, cheeky grin hinted on his face. Lifting your hand to your mouth you wiped your lip. The digit came back into view with a heavy inky streak; rolling your shoulder for a moment to recalibrate before rushing Reyes, he shoved you back, in one fluent action catching you square in the mouth, teeth cutting through your top lip; you landed right on your ass in front of him. You hit the floor with a punctuated "Fuck!"_

_"Come on, Sparky." He chuckled to himself, looking down at you mockingly. "Aren't going to snap again are you, punk?"_

_You tasted blood, not that strange gelatinous sludge—you felt it drip down your mouth in Crimson streaks as you breathed hard. Resting your elbows on your knees you growled under your breath, the wound healed fast, but the copious red that stained your face was enough to show the severity of the injury._ _You could feel your pulse jackhammering, it'd been a long time since you felt anything like that. Being outmatched, and hell, if Reyes wasn't giving you this look you couldn't quite place—you would've been able to brush it off, but at the moment you comprehended the expression you snapped._

_It made you see red._

_For the first time in a while, you let a part of you slip. Everything moved fast, a majority of the time you didn't even know what your body was doing—it was acting on muscle memory and rage._

_Within seconds you had wrapped your arms around his knees and pulled himself from under him. Reyes hit the mat hard, you pounced on him—palm clamping down over his throat. His hands shot up to soften the grip, one of his legs forced its way under you into a coiled position, banging the entirety of his knee into the crotch of your slacks, your grip loosened and eyes jamming shut in acute pain involuntarily. He chuckled dryly and managed to coil his leg under you. Reyes kicked—connecting with your gut, the air was knocked out of your diaphragm–bucking you once, right in the abdomen. He heard what he wanted, a loud thump accompanied by the sound of organ rupturing, then it mimicked somebody crinkling a plastic water bottle, it echoed through the room and through your peripherals, the Angela had scrunched a refillable drink container, making a distraught expression, her grip was in a tight fist around the bottle—looking to Captain Amari, but she was watching with an intriguingly focus stare._

_You almost wept in agony, you could see the blurring of pain induced tears in the corners of your sight, curling in on yourself for a second, eyes clamping shut and the dense fluid leaked from your nose and mouth burned as it dripped like a faucet from your nose. The substance strung in a slick stain on the Commander's shirt, blotchy shades of shiny midnight on the man's already black shirt, a smell like death itself. You straddled him as Reyes snapped out of a concerned trance and twisted himself to try to shake you off of him. But, you held fast, pain turning to bitter fury, locking your grip around his neck, the veins on your hands bulged out and went red, he let go and moved to grab you by the forearms. Snarling, you pulled a fist back, leaning away to use your mass as you slammed it hard against the mat—a mere few centimetres away from his head. A thundering sound and a visible surge of electricity glittered as it sparked in tendrils of lightning as it collided with the surface, the rubber of the mats deflecting it and making it disperse uniformly as it danced and left an impressive scorch mark. Reyes expected it, he knew that you would let your composure slip in a blind anger._

_Your body froze—fist still firmly planted to the mat, the burn mark from the punch sprawled around it; your pupils contracted as you slowly came to terms with the action you had just made. "Oh, shit." Was the only thing you could articulate, it was hoarse and dry; the sheer hindsight of how you'd screwed up hit. Jesse made a surprised whistle. "Now that's some serious anger issues, Vrontí." Commander Reyes laughed, low and mean. Your face twisted into an expression of guilt, horrified at your own outburst. You never meant to lose control, rarely did your powers manifest so directly—so clearly and so pronounced._

_The Commander just looked so damn smug at the prospect that he'd managed to make you fuck up that much. That just the thought of him made you—in front of your peers. Training dummy for the next year. Great._

_You lifted your fist slowly, sliding off as you attempted to withdraw yourself from the situation; A big palm came up, shoving you back by your face, the hand squishing your nose making you growl as you rolled off of him, you fumed, shooting him a bitter look as you slowly got to your feet. "You have earned yourself the valiant title of the training dummy."_

_You sulked under your breath, snorting a harsh exhale you spat a small amount of black sludge to the mat. Slinking back to the vacant spot next to Jesse; in between the medic and the crusader behind. You lifted your shirt up and over your head to expose a sports bra and a gruesome black bruising, it was a tenderised mass, and all from Reyes' horse kick—the wounds began to turn a vulgar yellow green as they healed nearly instantaneously in front of the cowboy and the crusader, Angela haphazardly leaned forward to place a hand on the large pulverised patch and made a concerned noise. The caring gesture made you chuff, you turned to the cowboy and chuckled with an eyebrow raised then you shrugged._  

_"Hey– Soph... Are you... Uh... okay?" Jesse asked, concern evident in his voice, Angela's eyes had goner arm in fear stricken uncertainty, even Captain Amari had turned to give you a worried glare. "Yeah, I'm fine... why– ?" Something blood hot dripped on the back of your hand as you spoke, your mouth felt numb, you turned to him but your vision lagged behind your head. With one methodical glance at your hand, a black, sickly splotch had mottled against it, and the floor beneath you. "Hey, Reyes? Soph's not doing too well—"_

_Jesse gestured for the Commander and you instantly stood, "I'm gonna go– to the bathroom reeeeaal quick—" Your mouth started burning even more, and you pushed off of the bench abruptly, stepping over O'Reilly, making a bee line the hell out of the sparring area, you heard Angela's voice but couldn't or maybe didn't want to respond for a medical game of twenty-one questions. Then you heard Reyes call out, as you left the room and approached the change rooms it followed, only as the unusual pitter-patter of heavy footsteps rounded._

_"Vrontí—" you ignored him, almost kicking down the bathroom door and leaning over into the bowl of a sink, yet again the agony of the ink streamed instead of up-chucked, painting the porcelain a sickly charcoal. The bathroom door opened with a small creak, the steps approached and a supportive arm cradled you over the sink, as another pulled you hair into a neat pony tail. You slumped in his hold, going limp and tired, you looked up and caught the worried look in his eyes._  

"Hey." A deafeningly familiar voice echoed gruffly down the hall. You didn't know where you were.  

Why are you in the corridor?  

You're fine, you're fine—  

No—no.. no you're not.  

Blatant confusion and disassociation painted obviously over your face as you realised that you had spent the better half of half an hour having a vivid conscious dream.  

The figure in black made a noise that sounded annoyed, if not concerned by the undertone of fear in your reaction.  

"What are you doing?" Reaper grumbled.  

"Waiting for god to smite me for my sins, what else?" You sighed bitterly and faked a celebratory toast, taking in a large gulp of juice, then you turned to him. The black coat's outline was distorted against the shadows made by the poor lighting, the gear made him look a lot more formidable. If you could die, it would be the death of you. A complete list of all the times you almost chocked seeing your commanding officer—signed and in mint condition.   

 _Only $19.95! What great savings!_ You internally laughed at your own joke, you’re bitter. So very bitter. "It's 2:00 am and you're sitting in the middle of the hallway drinking a gallon of juice" he grumbled, making vague gestures with his hand.  

"I can't sit anywhere else." You chimed, taking another swig. He sighed, going quiet for a moment. "Come here." You hesitantly stood up, watching as he held the door open at the end of the corridor. nYour footsteps made light sounds as you entered the room. When you walked in, you saw he was not sleeping or anything of the sort; he was studying somebody, the place was fogged slightly, the air was thick and strangely hazed. Notes were sprawled around where he was sitting on top of the covers, Reaper closed the door behind you and sat back in his position.   You sat on a chair opposite him. Looking at the files.  

"Who's your target?" It came out as a groan, probably because you were lazy and not in a great level of energy.  

"Have a look," the Wraith tossed you the file. Mechanically catching it you flicked through the documents. Seeing the face of an American journalist and other images of him walking around in an urban setting. "Assassination work? When?" You huffed.  

"Tomorrow, be ready by 5:00am." Reaper groaned slightly, stretching his fingers into a fan shape and articulating each one. "That's pretty short notice." You rubbed your eyes, blinking a few times to try and get a photographic memory in place.

"Talon doesn't really care." He muttered, "When was the last time you slept?" Reaper turned to you slowly. 

"On and off naps, but honestly—the night before you graciously persuaded me, I don't need to sleep."  

Reaper groaned again, out of clear annoyance. "Yes, you do." Flickering his pupils to the empty space of the bed next to him and back to you. "C'mere." He chuffed.

With a drawn out whine you cooperated, lightly walking around the bed, before collapsing face-down next to him. Letting out a low hum as you tried to relax, you arched up on your elbows. The bed was like concrete on your side—Reaper looked all moulded in on his side like he's in a little dent of comfort. "It's like cement, Jesus." You lifted yourself up just enough to dig your elbows in to knead the mattress a few times, then grumbled with a determination that only came from sleep deprivation. He chuckled lightly, looking down at you for a moment with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes that watched from just behind the white mask. With a sigh you slumped into the mattress, it was a little bit less dense and was better than the solid mass of hell it was before. "Wait, almost comfy." You rolled on your side, back to the wraith, and groaned once more. 

"There." You rolled to face him, his head had fully angled down to stare at you. "Took you long enough." Reaper's gaze was almost predatory, his pupils blown wide in the low light and a red ring of fire around them. Looking up with a slight furrowed brow you rolled your eyes and slowly blinked, loosing consciousness after the second long moment of shut eye. You passed out.  

Hallucinogenic convulsions given off by whirlpools of crimsons and deep violets, vignetted by a haze of black and midnight blue. There's a shape, it stands out in a black figure with a bright red glowing outline. Whatever this mass of shadows was, it didn't seem to resist, it let you hold onto it, even reforming to accommodate.  

It was surprisingly dense. All before the vividness dulled to a pure, untainted pitch black, you swore you heard somebody speaking, in a language you somewhat understood, an old familiar one, but not your own. You hummed in response and gripped tighter. The colours returned with a new found intensity, something pulled you close. Well, whoever the voice was, they sighed and the black swirling slowly clouded your thoughts. For everything you've done you don't deserve this. You don't deserve it.  

You don't...

 


	6. Could you call it sleeping beauty?

When you woke up, you felt a satisfied lightness. You hadn't slept this good in a while, even more uncommonly; you had something warm in a hug.   
   
You didn't want to get up, but you assumed that the thing you had been embracing was in fact your own arm. But when you moved slightly with it in your grasp, you heard Reaper inhale deeply—and that's when It clicked. He was still looking through notes, you could hear him shuffling the pages, with one hand.  
   
He had taken off his menacing gloves.  
   
It was warm and your arms were wrapped around his bicep, making his hand sit just below your belly, somewhat wedged between the space in the middle of your cleavage. His hand was the same; worn on the palm, rough and hard with dense wear and scars.

Even after all these years, under all that leather, Gabriel was definitely still there. You were only awake for a few seconds, so of course you could feel his eyes examining your movements. You blinked a few times, before looking up at him shifting his stare between his arm and you. No mask either? 

Gabe still looked good; His face was less as scarred and demonic than it was the last time you saw it. He seems to be undeterred by the action anyway. Loosening your hug around his arm, he slipped it out with a hum and went back to re-reading papers. "You've become a heavy sleeper." He stated lightly. You made a slow half-yawn and sat up, soon after you retorted by making a somewhat annoyed chuff at the remark. "I was tired." You said, grumbling slightly as you yawned again.  
   
Gabe rolled his eyes. _"I thought you don't need sleep."_ Mocking you slightly, he grunted.  
   
"You're ruining my morning, Casanova." You grumbled back, shushing him with a finger over his mouth. He went cross eyed as he watched it move in front of him and he growled, teeth hinting as he grunted and tried to bite it, a small billow of smoke following.  
   
Still in a mild haze of sleep from having woken up nicely you threw caution to the wind. Squishing Gabriel's lips and hints of grey that peppered his beard slightly with your pointer and thumb you sat up to press a kiss to his cheek, due to a small moment of tender allowance from him. "You chuckled and slumped back down. Bringing his hand up to his face he rubbed his chin then his cheek, like a peacock fluffing it's feathers back to perfection, he snorted.  
   
Before he began fully getting up off the bed, making it dent as he sat up and pushed off, walking slowly to his desk and pulling out a bag and tossing it in front of where you sat. "What's that?" You picked up the pack and studied it momentarily.  
   
"Your gear–" He mumbled, looking back at the drawer and getting out some gear for himself. "Just some ammo and all of that." 

"Really?" You looked inside, there were weapon belts and thigh straps for knifes and a few industrial power cells, along with a pistol holster and ammo clip slots.   
   
"Thought you lost my gun," You said and he gestured vaguely in your direction. “No, unfortunately." 

Your old crime outfit would work fine, you used it all the time. Leather varsity with grey inner layers and a red lining; heavy duty, tight midnight black tank top, black compression tights, back slim gloves. And your muzzle. You were still getting used to the whole hidden identity thing even after the past few years. You walked lethargically into the bathroom, opting not to close the door behind you, cradling the bag. With very little effort you squeezed into the outfit and checked yourself out in the mirror. Reaper throwing a bag of guns at the floor along with your clothing bag snapped you out of your daze, you stepped out to see him still in his emo outfit, now with the belts on and holsters.

"Do you ever take that off?"

"Are you implying something?" He exhaled sharply, a light scoff and you assumed he raised an eyebrow behind that mask.   
   
"Up to you, honestly." You smirked, feeling nostalgia and excitement spur.  
   
"If that's the case, knowing you; It's sexual." He mused. "Rich, coming from you." You pouted, grabbing the overpowered pistol you used back in Overwatch and stuffing the clips into the slots on your waist and putting throwing knifes on your hip. Then pulling the pair of fully black combat boots out and a pair of black socks, sliding them both on with slight effort.  
   
He holstered his shotguns and with wraith form, dissipated through the door. 

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?" You stumbled after him to get out, tumbling through the door and chasing the billowing mass of smoke down the hall. Slipping through the closing doors of the lift you stood next to him as he rematerialised back into his physical form.   
   
The skeletal mask twisting to look down at you before cracking his knuckles and pressing the button for the ground floor.


	7. Highly capable, when you feel like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live beside a seaside park, and at 3:00am a whole bunch of people started blaring a trance remix of "London Bridge is falling down," And i'm unsure if i should be amazed or angry.

You were both dropped into an inner city street from the stealth helicopter, it was midnight, and just like some sort of convoluted fairytale, all the people of Kingsrow were sleeping.

The target was six blocks from your current position. With haste you made great time, Reaper leaped between the roofs of the terraces, the back of his coat swayed and flushed in the winds, while you tailed him, running at the same pace alongside him. "Seen any ex-Blackwatch?" You huffed, maintaining pace.  
   
"O'Reilly joined Talon straight after Switzerland; as did Hesan, but he defected back to Malaysia. Lewis: dead, Beckett? Dead...O’Deora—" Reaper's voice trailed off monotonically, listing people as you stopped listening after hearing Beckett's name. He was slowing down to avoid his heavy footsteps. "How'd Beckett die?" You sighed, a pain ached in your chest for a second and you tried to suppress thinking about Beckett's dusty blonde hair, that stoic image he tried to keep, even though under all that toughness he was one of the most compassionate dog lover you'd ever met.   
   
Reaper almost immediately stopped, glancing over his shoulder for a second and studying you, like the hollow feeling and the tightness in your throat was visually there.  
   
"Assassinated a year ago. He had gotten married to a neuroscientist, had a little girl called Jemma. Adopted three pit bulls. One of them was called Sparky."  
   
"Ah, see that's the kind of shit I don't want to hear." You could've had a breakdown, you could've broke down into tears and sobs and cried until you couldn't breath, you almost unbolted all that suppressed grief. But you didn't. You stood there looking unconsciously at the black eyeholes in Reapers' mask and let yourself slip back into an unaffected state.   
   
"Delta squadron was totally eliminated. Truth be told, I personally shot Ottäreo in the head." He snorted as if he was complicating his own business.  
   
"How sweet of you." You smiled under the muzzle, "Ottäreo was an asshole." 

He laughed low and mean in his throat, a guttural chuckle. "...Had a feeling you'd enjoy hearing about her being six feet under." Pausing to shoot him a look with your eyebrow arched up you slowly hummed. "Better in hell than here." You spat the comment like venom.  
   
Reaper scoffed under his mask, "Hopefully, that's exactly where she is." He amused himself watching you react with a small, barely audible giggle. He slowed, stretching out an arm to stop you, before pointing to the opposite side of the street side rooftops. Launching himself off the guttering of the roof; he vaulted the impressive distance, before dissipating into smoke as he wafted over to the adjacent building.  
   
He stayed mostly disassociated, a billowing mass with a bone white mask at its head. You brought your finger up to the com in your ear.  
   
"Really?" You huffed, putting your hands on your hips. The com made a humming noise as the wraith responded. "You're a capable woman, act like it." He chuckled sinisterly and swiped some debris from his gauntlet. "Capable this," You lifted a hand, pulling down all but one, and quite to your amusement; blatantly flipping him off.  
   
"Did you just—" He grumbled, before you started backing up, you left yourself enough room to get a running start, you vaulted the impressive gap of the street below.  
   
Landing on your feet as you made contact on the other side, stumbling for a moment before stabilising. Readjusting your hood back over your head before realigning the masks' skintight fit, dusting the debris from your gear. 

"Mhmm, I did." You admitted without consulting your own conscience.

"How mature, Sparky." Reaper sarcastically sulked and the two of you moved for another block before he froze. He looked at you before pointing to the floor beneath him as he fazed through the air vent. 

"Aren't I always?" When you laughed your muzzle vented hot air and a low chuffing noise, wall climbing down to the window via the gap of an alleyway, hanging onto the window on the side of the building and waiting for Reaper to materialise as he wafted over to you, unlocking the window, letting you slinking through.  
   
As you brought your gun up into your grip, slipping around the corner to catch sight the targets' room you saw a child's toy. A small train set that made a double figure eight which you stepped over carefully as not to ruin the little kids's hard work. There was a fire station and a hospital on the train line, plus a small school with cows surrounding it, they'd put a Godzilla action figure out front of the police station. Opening the heavy door slowly, you saw the man reach for a gun before you loaded a round into his head.

Reaper sighed contently as he turned to you, the target had been eliminated. "The first of many, I believe." He hummed, looking at the door. "For better or for worse." You responded slowly. An ear piercing noise cut through the panelled window, like somebody making a decrescendo whistle at a high pitch as the object sliced the air past, followed by a dense thud and crack of it colliding with the densely post-noted wall next to your head, sending a few of the neon slips fluttering to the floor.

To your surprise, the sound of a high calibre rifle shot made you bark a single laugh, loud and uncomfortably, another one shattered the window and connected with your waist, except the bullet was not so much a bullet but a sharp needle vial, it stuck into you; lodged deep and oozing a strange golden liquid. 

"You think it's a nerve agent?" You froze, staring at the container, Reaper looped an arm around your waist and lifted you like a keg of beer; swiping you out of the way and into the safety of the hall, dematerialising with you in his grip. The cold feeling returned—being pulled back into the state of limbo—this time you were more aware, looking around as he funnelled up the way he came in, as a billow of black ash and smoke. You looked to your own body, it wasn't physically present either—it was a fog as well—a swirling abyss of bright blues and reds—swarming around an abyssal midnight cloud.

The colours that hazed your vision were the same as the palette in your dream—purples and blacks with crimsons twinkling ominously.

That's when the burning started. A subtle scorching began to hint in your pain receptors. You could feel yourself healing, the uncomfortable heat of mitosis occurring in your cells made your body temperature increase.

He abruptly reformed, mild motion sickness hit you like a truck, harshly gripping one of his padded shoulders he slowly stood you up on your feet, hesitantly holding you to keep you balanced, his gauntlet firmly pressed into your hip, offering some stability.

"I'm fine.." your voice was slightly distorted through the mask, he growled, looking to the opposite rooftop. "Reaper, I'm fine." Reaper's head snapped around to look at you. Suddenly brought back to earth, he sighed and rubbed your hip slightly with his gauntlet, having had snaked it under the heavy leather jacket the sharp gloves made small circles over the skintight base material; he gave you a once over and grumbled to himself as he took a sharp hold of the vial that seemed to heat up the spot it had punctured into your torso, he pulled it out in one fluid motion and studied it momentarily.  
   
"Doesn't hurt at all. But, it does look like those old biotic prototypes back at Overwatch—I remember trialling one for Zeigler." You recounted and he seemed to go rigid, dropping the vial on the floor and shattering it beneath the toe of his boot.  
   
Looking back as you stood on the rooftop you looked for the shooter, studying the rooftops before the both of you began sprinting and vaulting over tiled roofs to a safe distance.  
   
As you boarded the evac ship, but you still felt eyes on you. Snapping your neck to catch a glimpse of a what you believed was a shrike-like assassin in a set of robes with a blue helmet—it obscures all of her face; she was about six hundred metres away.

You stopped and watched as she watched you in return, raising your hand into a wave, before the figure slipped behind a dark structure.  
   
Reaper walked out from the cargo bay to see you staring to where the figure was.  
   
Hearing him grumble, you answered the unspoken question.

"Sniper was wearing a robe plus a helmet with blue lights," you continued. "I actually don't think they missed, I think they did it on purpose. It was a friendly shot." He made an insulted noise at the description and ordered the jet to get going before looking back at you with a low sigh.


	8. Sardonicism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vrontí seems predisposed to not be too fond of Talon's questionably allianced hacker.

You had been here for about 3 weeks, having sat in the room deemed yours, they had added extra outlets. You could always go to another room, they had power points everywhere. Some things seemed off in the room, large patches of discolouration littered the walls.

Who cares.

As you worked with Sombra, her interest in you began to turn into the two of you becoming somewhat allowing of each other, friends is what she called, you begged to differ. She would often ramble to you about her opinions and perspectives on her truth seeking, having large digital maps of organisations and heroes that she strung together.  
She was extremely good at covert ops, invisibility was probably one of her defining abilities, sneaking around like a rat in a pantry. 

You, on the other hand, had that Blackwatch skill on your side: in, out, shoot, kill. Easy. She would take what she needed and you would clean up the leftovers without complaint.

That was used to be your job anyway, Blackwatch, you were after all the clean-up crew for the serious fuck-ups. You chuckled to yourself sarcastically. "That doesn't sound like a laugh of happiness," Sombra noted, raising an eyebrow at how quickly you'd rolled your eyes in a display of laziness. The elevator the two of you stood in hummed.

"It's not." You blinked lazily, the elevator made a cheerful tone, the doors opened, a man with a pistol stood firmly in your way.  
   
"κακὸς ἀνὴρ μακρόβιος," You jerked forward using the momentum of your hips and lodged a throwing knife into the main artery on his neck, bringing a leg up you kicked him forward and wiped the blood from your knife, returning it to its slot on your hip.  
   
A splatter of blood sprayed on your face, when he chocked on his own fluids. "Meaning—A bad man lives long." Collecting gruesomely on the black material of your muzzle. Sombra winced as you cleaned it off with the back of your glove.

"Can't argue with you there." She snickered momentarily before stepping out and over the dead man.


	9. Only momentary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Europeans and our nursery rhymes, amiright?

The missions carried on consistently.  

Everything from you punching holes into omnic freedom fighters to pistol wiping anti-terrorist troopers and omnics in general.  

Kill after kill after kill, you lost count.

Shot after shot after shot, you stopped counting.  

It was so easy to get used to this. The words of a fallen mentor echoed in your head.  

 _"Never have I seen somebody so perfectly adapted for anything, it is inhuman... You are an Enigma, my dear."_ She was sincere, the sound of a mother, but when she looked at you—her eyes clouded with sadness. Her dominant eye blurred. The sound of a gunshot breaking the sound barrier made you snap out of your memory. Amari had hesitated—And she died for it. There was a splatter of red that blinded your sight for a second, a scream cut short rang in your ear, guns blazed in your head and things flashed bright and erratic.  

The smell of scalding metal bubbling under immense heat, the sound that a 308 calibre rifle makes when the bullet in the chamber collides with animal flesh.

A thud, followed by more. The smell of concrete fibres.   

Static.

You flinched absentmindedly, taking a sharp inhale and looking around erratically for a second; the jet was steady, all was well. At least on surface value. Widow's gaze snapped to you from her seat opposite; you realised you'd just suppressed a subconscious panic attack. Widowmaker didn't respond how you expected she would. The woman blinked long and slow when her eyes locked with yours. She sighed disapprovingly.  

It wasn't an insult, it's wasn't even spiteful. It was a millisecond of sympathy. You had a moment of realisation that Widow too experienced the same trauma reactions every so often, you concluded it would've been due to the conditioning.  

Widow wasn't staring into your eyes, someone else was. The golden yellow of her irises distorted into a faintly distinguishable normal colour. She was there; for a brief time—she frowned and spoke a sad tune in a faint whisper.   

 _Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines. Sonnez les matines._ The sleeper hummed.

Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.

Without hesitation you reciprocated the tender tune of a nursery rhyme in your own language.  

Την καμπάνα του χωριού μας, Την ακούτε παιδιά, Τι γλυκά σημαίνει, You hummed back.  

Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.  

Amélie's mouth creased into a faint smile, eyebrows lifting, in utter content. Amélie blinked long and slow again and slipped back under the harsh veil of her conditioning.   

The assassin's face steeled and she turned to look out the window of the jet, gold eyes gazing out into the pitch black abyss of stars and moonlight.


	10. What's some pain to tough love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics in paragraph format indicate flashback

_"Information obtained, head to evac." You threw up black sludge before you collapsed against the small boundary wall._ _The two bullets lodged in your right thigh hadn't gone clean through, and there was no way you could get them out without severing the vital artery._ _You struggled to rip your hoodie sleeve off with your teeth, glancing at the overwatch insignia mixed with the khaki and off-white segmentations on the upper bicep. You pressed the fabric into the wound that was pooling blood and held it there, seething through your teeth and holding back a loud slur._

_"Copy that, only issue is– Reyes—Th-that scouting party was running early." You whined, making uncomfortable sounds of agony as it stung your senses. "I've been downed badly, I—I can't get up."_

_"Diaz, McCree and I are on our way– don't move."_ _The third bullet had hit you in the shoulder and had cross-sectioned through your abdomen, it was healing uniformly._ _Your body was too preoccupied trying to heal your leg. The pain was as sharp as anything, but you were less concerned about your arm._

_You couldn't move from your position without two working legs and you let a steady leak of sludge drain onto the floor from your mouth. You heard shoes hitting the concrete. You instantly calmed your heavy breathing._ _Then gunshots. A shotgun and a semi-automatic to be precise, followed by six rounds spraying out of a revolver's dial. The shotgun spray was indefinitely Reyes, you almost laughed in spite as you heard a body fall to the floor without grace._

 _They came around to your side of the wall._ _"Jesus christ, Sparky." Reyes scolded, before he bent down to put both gloved palms over your right thigh, jostling the muscle to see the depth of the wound._

_"Both... both bullets are stuck." Reyes chided, in any other situation you'd have gone red-faced from the placement of his hand as it slid to the top of your hip, nothing but careful examination of your injuries on Reyes' behalf. You grumbled and gave him a lighthearted huff in jest to your situation._

_"_ _I just need a hand up-" You attempted humour, glancing at Jesse who had a guilt in his eyes. But, it only made Diaz's eyebrows furrow further in concern, taking a short visual photograph at the constant stream of blood that far surpassed the amount of somebody who had bled out. The Macedonian reached behind himself and pulled a coagulant shot from a pocket on his hip._

_McCree's spurs rattled as he shifted to hold Diaz's semi-auto whilst he fiddled with the intravenous shot. "Diaz–" You instantly flinched away, "Nick, please. Don't you dare—" the coagulation injections stopped your excessive bleeding but they burned like hellfire, the pain blinded you; made you bring up ink like a fountain._

_"You're painting this place red, we can't move you if you're soaking blood, you'll fester."_

_Diaz looked to Reyes and he nodded, "Sir-Reyes—please—I don't need it-" you maintained begging as you attempted to struggle. "Yes, you do." Commander Reyes hushed, "McCree, stand watch." He looked to Jesse, who had become the honorary gun rack, you gave a pleading glance to the cowboy and he all but pleaded back, a stance in his posture that displayed a subtle distress. Reyes moved swiftly to slot himself behind you, he wrapped his arms over yours and folded them in front of you in a restraining hold with all his strength, utterly disabling you. Diaz bent down and lined up the trajectory of the syringe and made a fluent motion in. "No- Reyes." You squirmed when the pain hit and tried to jerk away as Diaz held the shot in,_ _"No! Please, sir! fuck–Reyes! GABrie—”_

_The Commander's bulk was limiting your fighting as he gritted his teeth, you kept thrashing, he moved his hand to cover you mouth, effectively cutting off your scream of agony._

_"Shhhh... You're alright, Sparky." Reyes' tone was suddenly softer, it made you seize up all fighting just from the sheer confusion and you looked up at him frantically, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. You could feel the quads of your thigh twitch as the medication kicked into full affect and your leg stiffened, a cold ache started to spread then an acidic scorching that flared into a burning pain blared, you screamed and sobbed but no sound escaped past his hand over your mouth. Diaz leaned back and withdrew the injection, Reyes maintained the restraining hold, lifting his hand away to hold your head up with his palm._

_The arm restraining you left and a slow pat on your shoulder started up, caring and in good faith. You could taste the acid in your mouth increase, looking down and watching as the bleeding had completely stopped. Reyes stood, completely displacing himself from you and taking a few steps to fix the fit of his chest armour. You turned you head and spat sludge before buckling over yourself._

_"Why can't I just cark it and be done with." The ink was dribbling out of your mouth, dry sobbing in agony as you turned and spat again, painting a charcoal black streak across the floor as you trembled through pain._

_Reyes frowned as a sigh left him, he leaned down and petted your back softly._

_"Cause we'd miss you too much if you did."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> °(ᵔᴥᵔ)°


	11. Russian rouse

The tasks you went on were almost always assassination work, once Talon had become confident with your ability to comply, they had you running around like a headless chicken. Mainly being sent along with Reaper, or being sent off alone; unsurprisingly, the two of you worked well together. That bond of mutuality seemed to allow you to enter his personal space; Reaper frequently hovered around you, small touches and the odd compassionate gesture, you don't mind in the slightest, it's better than having a grunt breathing down your neck.

You sat beside one an other, alone in the seating of the small helicopter as it made its way back to Talon headquarters. 

You were both tired. After a nine and a half hour firefight with a Russian woman with a pink crew cut and what you think was gravity cannon device; for pulverising and frying omnic war machines. Along with a military grade artillery gun and four dozen soldiers—the end result managed to exhaust the wraith. You'd been pulled along as he shadow-stepped six out of ten times, the burning still ever present, dissolving into that cloud of smoke countless more times as he snaked from position to position. Sure, you retrieved the intel, but not at the cost of your energy, collapsing out of sheer exhaustion.

Reaper was lethargic, sluggish in his movements as he boarded the helicopter in a plume of black haze, also collapsing onto the seat with a long drawn out sigh of fatigue. Reaper's posture was one of those moments of reminisce, he maintained the same mannerisms, slumped back, arms folded on his chest, likely sporting that resting bitch face behind that mask as he leaned heavily against the wall.

You, as usual, relaxed lazily, until he slid you to his side with a long tug, being pressed side to side against Reaper would've been quite a sight for any other petty grunt—but, this was a duo mission. No grunts to kill, unfortunately. Your head skewed into resting on the solid shoulder padding of his armour; it was nice. With your hood pulled down, loose hair swayed and twirled in the breeze of late evening, as it blew through the chopper, some of the brown beach tendered locks even drooping down over the black of his outfit.

Nudging into him slightly as you adjusted the angle that you leaned on him, the exposed flesh of his biceps and elbows had fully changed to an off grey since the two days you'd been in that freezing hell hole. You assumed because he had exerted himself greatly with all the shadow Wraith shit.  

The muzzle hummed lightly as you inhaled deeply. He reciprocated the act and you could hear the leather of his chest stretch in defiance at the depth of the breathing, a billow of black, inky smoke leaked from his mask. Reaper lifted his arm and you slid down into his lap on your side—a mild uncertainty hit you first at his gesture but, it quickly faded as the bone white of his faceplate turned down to you in an almost tender way and you watched the red of his pupils disappear in a long blink in the shadowed recesses.  

A steady stream of air exhaled out of you as you twisted to lay chest down over those infamously large thighs, the metal gauntlet of his left hand came to a rest over your shoulder, having to skew your head to the side slightly to accomodate for the muzzle, you nuzzled somewhat into him. He made a long sigh when you brought your gloved hand to wrap over the sharp knuckles, running your digits over the one of the two large protruding spikes on it. The softness and the black of your gloves contrasted the faint staining of dried blood and polished steel of his razor sharp gauntlet.   

Slowly closing your eyes, you had managed to lay an arm over his thigh and looped your fingers under it slightly, pulling yourself up onto his lap more, draping the other free arm over both of his legs. There was a sturdy steel insignia that hung from his hip and you polished it with the material of your glove and left it be to drape back over his thigh. That same gauntlet moved up to your head and petted you lightly, moving some hair out of your eyes; a dry chuff escaped the wraith as he displayed what most would've seen as an uncharacteristic affectionate kindness.   

"Still a big softy, huh?" You mumbled with your face pressed into him. The feeling of a deep chuckle reverberated through him and into you by the contact you had.  

"If you're going to be like that, I'll gladly boot you onto the floor." The threat wasn't necessarily in the tone that meant he would; or maybe he was too tired to put effort into the remark, or at least to follow through. It was unfounded, you assumed.

He seemed too content in having you there, patting you lethargically while you're nestled into him. You scoffed lightly, raising an eyebrow in a sarcastic jeer from his threat, before pulling yourself closer into his lap, Reaper's gauntlet going back to making long strokes through your hair. Getting a long sigh from you, slowly you dozed off into a light nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Reaper must've tired himself out.


	12. It's affirmative action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: if you're ever in a fight, punch your opponent dead-on the nose for an easy hit or punch upwards just above the back of the jaw; they'll almost seem to short circuit and you'll likely knock them out if you do it hard enough.

Now at about two and a half months in, events at the apparent base itself include a very aggressive run in with some cocky grunts who believed you were just another whore working for Talon. You had chosen to wear casual clothing, black track pants and a black singlet, still keeping the muzzle on.

No idea how that made the deprived men spring into action. One of them stood in front of you, attempting to flirt with you as the other two grabbed came around you. A man attempted restraining you from under the crook of your shoulders and the other groped your ass. Knowing somebody of authority would be around somewhere, they would definitely hear the commotion. "You're making a terrible choice." You let out a low threatening growl, a final warning to stop before you'd have to give the corridor a new coat of paint.

"Aren't you the braindead one? That assassin? What's wrong with breaking broken goods anyway..." The assailant's voice was feral. Something repulsive in his tone, more akin to a chain smoking bike engine than a human; dirty and the unattractive kind of gruff. His hand ran up your front, almost at your cleavage.

"For starters, not a french assassin—and god help you." Before the contact reached its objective, you sprung into the offensive. Bringing your momentum up, you lifted your thighs and used the man's grip against him to force two legs around the grunt in front, keeping a lock iron hold around his neck you twisted your hips, consequently separating ligaments from his spinal cord and sending a visible surge of electricity into him.

As he fell dead to the floor the man behind dropped you, swinging a leg back to trip the asshole that restrained you. The grunt to your side hadn't moved, when you stood, he was still under shock—so obviously, the choice you made was to headbutt him as hard as you could, probably fracturing half the bones on that vain face of his. The man you had tripped received a few very ruthless stomps on the throat. Blood thickly coated your boots from the goring. Hearing pained crying, you looked down to the man on the floor; who's head you'd just caved in, you fixed your clothes, ran a hand through your hair and stepped over the man who's neck you'd broken and scorched, digging a heel into his face.

You hissed at the long dead figure, like a cougar lacerating a long dead opponent, drunk off of triumph. Before being snapped out of the fit of pure insatiable aggression and bloodlust by a familiar voice at the other end of the hall, walking over to you he made a content scoff for a moment, "You alright, Enigma?" Reaper questioned lowly, an obviously sinister intent in his voice. Reaper shifted into his wraith form for a moment before materialising right in front of you. Grabbing one of the freshly dead bodies, blood streamed from the gored throat of the man as he was lifted, the leather clad figure sucked what you assumed was the life force from him, a dust like substance seeped into his mask—he dropped the grey corpse, before pulling the other dead body out from under your foot; repeating the process. The man to your side screamed when he saw the vile and gruesome display of death.

"Hell, I'm sure as shit not stopping you, Casanova." You stated, looking down at the only surviving attacker. Reaper squatted down over him and growled in a blood curdling tone to the dying man. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Bringing a clawed gauntlet up, he drew his hand back, with a fluent motion he sliced the man's jugular with a single slash, blood painted the walls and floor in an overly generous splatter; Reaper grabbed the man as he sucked the soul out of him.

"How fair thee, princesa?" He cooed mockingly,

"Better than a damsel in distress," He stood up, shook the fresh dripping crimson from his claws and chuckled in a low rumbling tone. He moved to sweep you up and straddle him, you had a leg on either side of his hips.

"Thank you, Príncipe Encantador." You mocked, lifting your muzzle to place a kiss on the cheekbone of the skeletal mask, he practically purred like a house cat.

His gauntlets moved to grope a handful of your ass with his clawed digits, he pressed against your chest slowly.

"You're very welcome, mi chispa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't take shit from anyone.


	13. A jealous wraith, a softhearted outlaw and a cyborg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can speak completely fluent greek but, I can't write or read it. Not to mention, if i butchered Japanese or spanish... 'm sorry, google translate is a cruel mistress and I am at her mercy.

A meeting in the planning room had told of a payload mission tomorrow. You remembered protecting payloads and shipments with Overwatch and everyone after the crisis. There was this feeling somebody you knew would be there. Yet again, Widowmaker and Sombra were joining you, so somebody was bound to cop a beating. Arriving inside the mission plan room you swung back in a chair, you were early. Widow was in and out of the base most of the time you were there, she had made confusing contact with you—she would pet you almost like a dog or trip you as you drank, regarding you with a unplaceable interest; something underlying. But, that was almost fully expected from somebody of her personality. Vindictive, merciless, near incomprehensible with their true intentions and inhumanly vain. She snaked into the room and toyed with the balance of your chair, watching you struggle for a moment before letting it fall back, trying to catch yourself before you hit the floor. With a crash, you contacted the cold concrete ground.

"Widowmaker—Why?" Huffing under your mask you hissed in a bitter tone before she stood over you, bending down to shush the snout of the muzzle with a gloved finger. You growled at her and jerked your head away. Shrugging, she stepped away to slip the seat from under you and placed it upright a few metres away. Crossing her legs as she sat. She left you without a seat.

How cheap.

When Reaper entered the room, he gestured for you and Widowmaker to get going, the walk to the plane pad was short. About thirty Talon grunts accompanied the three of you in the large jet, Sombra was sitting in the back typing on her holovid monitor. Zipping your jacket higher up to hide the tight black base layer. The grunts tried to sneak glimpses at the curvature given off by the clothing, as they looked up to the balcony, a few of the depraved grunts watched hips sway as you paced loading a spare extended clip.

The attention on you must have made Mr Chemical Romance jealous because you saw him stomp over to the edge, pointing both shotguns over the railing, and leaning down to the soon to be lambs to the slaughter, grumbling as he noted which men were staring, "Who wants to be thrown off the jet?" He shouted at them full of fury and they instantly cowered, some even coughed uncomfortably and fidgeted.  
   
The sound of a few men whimper from his masked stare made you laugh as you leaned over the railing next to Reaper; trying to spot the weakest links. You turned and walked back to sit opposite Widowmaker. Widow contently smirked to herself before looking to you. "Prod the big, bad tiger's precious tigress and he comes out _snarling_."

You raised an eyebrow at her comment, looking at him as he walked back into the room, the hacker lifted her head with a glimmer of amusement. Motioning a gloved hand up you turned your fist to the French woman, bringing the other to hover next it, you mimicked the turning of a jack in the box, slowly lifting your middle finger; faking a gasp of shock as you fully extended the digit.  
   
"Stop it, Enigma." A clawed gauntlet swatted you over the head and you grumbled, letting heinous slurs fall from under your breath in Greek.

Sombra made a humoured scoff, you faintly heard her adjust her earpiece, probably listening to you through the communicator, and typing fast. The sound of his metal boots slowly walked over to Sombra as she looked up at him, handing him the earpiece.

"Yeah, γαμημένο σας ευχαριστώ πολύ μπαμπά-"  
   
His mask turned slowly to you, he held to device to the opening on the side of his mask, as you continued venting in your native language. Widowmaker took no interest in the events, she simply stood and went to clean her rifle in the next room. Sombra was trying to eavesdrop on the earpiece, she leaned in, but he walked from her and back to you, the poor girl nearly fell on her ass.  
   
"τι θα κάνεις μαλάκα, θέσει επτά ίντσες μέσα μου? Θα έπρεπε να είχα πατήσαμε το καουμπόη αντί για εσάς."  
   
He stared down into your eyes as you stayed seated, keeping your head on your hand, as your elbow rested on the arm rest. He tsked under his mask. Gears turned in your mind as you realised something. Only now you became self aware, the bastard was translating you.  
   
If there was any way to hear the pure and unchallenged egotistical pride in his eyes shine, you would have.You stuttered momentarily, feeling an undying hesitation for only millisecond to the fact your stream of consciousness rambling was being understood.  
   
"Μη μου σπας τ' αρχίδια"

"πήρα τον παπά από τα αρχίδια." He chuckled under his breath, smoke leaked lethargically from the bone coloured faceplate. "Oh, fuck off." You rolled your eyes and slumped into your chair, turning your face bitterly to the side to sulk, you seethed as he threw the small device back to Sombra and stood tall beside you, a hand came up and he ran his hand through your hair once.  
   
He was smiling under that mask.  
   
You bet money on it.

"I taught you Greek and you feel the need to translate me?" you huffed, "You tend to talk in slang. I wanted to hear what you were saying crystal clear." Reaper examined his claws momentarily before glancing up, chuckling darkly. "I taught you Spanish and the most you do is call me an bastard."  
   
"Boohoo, sweetheart." you stuck your tongue out. "Tirate a un poso."  
   
The plane landed with a controlled descent as it lowered itself onto the landing pad. You sat back and reminisced. Unlike many other former Overwatch agents you had no drive to fight for good or bad; the only alliance was to those you cared for or who manage to sway you. People often called you unmotivated or a lazy fuck, but those people were long dead and you would go to the ends of the earth for friends, or some simple fun. As you left the plane, you instantly boarded a helicopter.   
   
You watched the Talon soldiers load into vans. The final destination was Dorado, of course. You had been there when Overwatch was still active. The helicopter dropped you on the brinks of the town whilst it dropped the others in one by one closer and closer. Your job was to slip through the alleys to backtrack the payload. It was nowhere near as peaceful as it was now, last time you were here, hellfire and gunshots echoed through the streets.   
   
Nothing calm about it.

You had three grunts walk in front of you and you sauntered slowly above them on the rooftops, getting a better vantage point of the direction you were going.  
   
The sound of Widowmaker's rifle hitting concrete in the distance made you become tense. Hearing Reaper's shotguns meeting viscous gunfire in the same direction as Widow's.  
   
Three gunshots rang out among the men below you, they all fell in unison. You saw a man with a western ten gallon hat straighten up around the corner with the dim light of a cigar and a smoking gun. The figure laughed dryly as he cooled the gun with a directed puff of air. Smiling widely under your mask, a pitched, excited hum left you when you understood who it was. You pulled down the zipper of your jacket, pulling down the top slightly then you silently hopped onto the nearby roof. He looked up, hearing your footsteps against the tiles. You moved fast. Keeping a constant pace as you sneaked and circled him on the roof. He whistled a song, listening to you move around him while counting the bullets in his gun. You snuck into the house to his left, tapping the wood of the balcony railing as he turned and let off a shot at you, it connected with your shoulder and you made an almost congratulatory chuff, the bullet was a clean puncture, with a slight wince of pain you healed in little more than a minute. He stood there and tilted his hat up with the tip of peacekeeper, a small glimmer of interest shone in those deep brown eyes—he maintained the scowl, but, you could tell he was thinking about something—he primed the pistol again and you instantly moved to leap to the following platform.  
   
Slipping back inside a house you heard him clear his throat, returning to the roofing you lay there and undulated your gloves against the ceramic tiles.  
   
He spun around firing at you again, missing; as you ducked from the attempted headshot. Again, you vaulted to another roof and sung a tune softly as he let off another shot, trying to motion predict as he aimed slightly ahead of you.

You knew his style. You knew him. Purposely stopping his anticipated kill shot, you dropped into an opening in between the house and broke the glass of a window, leaping down the stairs and leaning out of a windowsill at him, using your arms to support your weight as you craned over. The lighting stopped him from seeing your eyes, only the muzzle was see able on your face, the tan skin of your arms contrasted with the deep black of your top and the leather of the jacket, followed by a necklace that high on your neck, it glimmered as it swayed, dancing in the light breeze, small hints of the gold minimalist talisman—a lightly engraved lightning bolt hung on the beige thread; a gift from a childhood friend. You haven't taken it off in a long time, and alongside that, on a long gold chain hung a little star. His eyes fixated onto the detailing that reflected off of the two golden charms, he smirked a troublesomely sly grin.   
   
Clicking your tongue you looked down at him through the mask. "How 'bout we play a game, stranger?" You cooed down to him and his hat tilted up higher as he made a toothy grin and tossed his cigar to the ground, fizzling it out with his boot.  
   
"Well now, step right up darlin', I'm always in the mood.” His gun pointed up instantly, making you push off of the window, doing a double take as you ran past a child's room, swiping a tennis ball from it scampering up the side of a house, You still wanted to toy with him a bit, fondly remembering the tune he would whistle when he was bored or content.   
   
The comlink in your ear rang, a guttural, familiar voice said, "Where are you, Enigma?" The cowboy was following you with, not sight—but his binaural hearing as you trotted along the ceramic tiles; throwing the tennis ball at his head as he scanned the roof in the wrong direction.   
   
Instead of him getting a nasty shock of a tennis ball to the head you watched him spin around and shoot it.

"Is that—the ingrate's gun—?"

"No..." You brought your hand up to your ear and clicked the mute on the earpiece.  
   
He chuckled at the now burst ball, kicking it in the dirt; then he walked into the nearest house as you slinked through the roofing and climbed down to tip toe up behind him. 

But, Jesse didn't turn around, although he probably heard you, he stayed unnervingly still, moving his hands to his hips, ever so slowly flicking his serape over his shoulder.  
You were probably inches away from him, 

To your shock he spun around and hooked a leg behind your knee and fell with you to the floor with a thud.  
   
All of the action at once made you shout out, he grinned above you. “You sparky lil' bitch, Soph!” Freeing one of your arms you unclipped the muzzle and tossed it aside, laughing, uncontrolled and hysterical.

Jesse's face curved up even more, he cheered as he scooped you into a hug, squeezing you tightly, pulling you up with him as you tightened back. He smelt like cowboy—like coffee with a bit of revolver gun smoke, aged bourbon, his favourite kind of tobacco and... sake? Why sake?   
   
Getting to his feet, he lifted you up, still maintaining the embrace, you got tangled in his serape as he spun around with you in a bear hug.

Before letting you down slowly. Pulling off his hat you gave his hair a thorough ruffling and left a overzealous amount of lipstick stains on his cheeks, before screwing the infamous gunslinger's headpiece back on his head.

He looked giddy and entranced from all the affection, his tone was excited and rushed, one cold hand and one warm one came up to cup your cheeks. "I miss'd you—I actually goddam missed you." He picked you up bridal style and you grinned, Jesse pushed his head into your shoulder and gripped you tightly.  
   
You started feeling old emotions bubbling up inside your soul—sadness, grieving, unfaltering agony.

"My big Ol' western cowboy." The gunslinger looked up as your voice stuttered, you wouldn't weep; you don't think you even know how to anymore, from years of suppressing grief and you smiled vacantly looking at his beard all messed around, your heart ached—with one hand you smoothed the hair back down, his beard was scruffy but still soft; he leaned forward and a chaste kiss on your forehead. He more or less left a dent from how hard he pressed it on your skin. Wrapping both arms around his neck you wanted to sob from the overflow of nostalgia and grief. A few precious moments of silence in the gunslinger's hug. "I've got so much to tell you... Firstly shave, your beard is way too long..." You chuckled halfheartedly, gunshots outside got progressively closer, making both of you freeze.  
   
Jesse lowered you back down to your feet haphazardly.  
   
"Goddamn it." He grumbled, running a hand under his hat, fixing his hair momentarily. Groaning lazily, you grabbed your mask from the ground, straightening up and putting an arm around his shoulder as you pulled him into you.  
   
You lifted your necklace off, holding the star chain out to him. He faked thought for a moment, putting a finger on his chin and nodding. He lifted his hat and slipped it over his head, it rested on his chest, slightly on the fabric of his serape, you took the sheriff badge and put it on the breast of your shirt, zipping the jacket back up.  
   
"I'll see you again, ok?" You whispered sadly as you hugged him, he let out a deep sigh, running his flesh hand through your hair, he rested his chin on your head.  
   
"You bet your ass you will, darlin.” As you leaned away, you clipped the mask into place and pulled your hood over it.  
   
"And for the love of God, stay away from Reaper. You're on his list."

"Ain't that fact… That grumpy old bastard.” He nodded, there was a brief second where Jesse’s mind caught up to what you said, "Hold on now... how did you know 'bout Rey—"

"He's how Talon's got me by the balls, Jesse." You saluted before vaulting out of the window and onto the roof on the other side of the street. You ran across the tiled rooftops for a while, shooting rouge figures as they heaved up the buildings to get to you. Watching Reaper defending with his shotguns, shooting a few men as you slinked behind him,   
   
“Where did you—" He looked over to you as he buckshot a man with a sub machine gun, "—run off to?" Reaper grunted, grabbing him by the throat and sucking the life out of him, a black smoke emitted from the man's body and seeped into the bone white of Reaper's mask.   
   
The skin poking out from the leather on his elbows went from pasty grey white to a ever so slight tan.  
Widow guarded the route ahead as the payload reached the Talon retrieval vans. Two four wheel drives pulled up along side the payload, armed with machine guns.  
   
"Had a little adventure, y’know…" You jumped forward, practically leap frogging over the wraith, pushing yourself over a crate you gripped his bicep for a second to launch forward, making physical contact to the steel as you scorched one, frying the circuits with a few thousand volts before sprinting away as the men inside exploded with the vehicle, you repeated to process with the second one.

"What about you?" Slipping under his legs on your side, you slid before you stood behind the wraith who was spraying shells, you pistol whipped a man with a balaclava on.

“The usual.” You started firing a few rounds into the concrete fence one man was hiding behind, arching over Reaper's shoulder and used his build as a steady-aim, taking out three men as the pistol recoiled empty cases just in front of his bone white mask. "Nice job." He chuckled darkly and looked over his shoulder at you, your gaze met and your eyes squinted to a faint grin under your muzzle. Reaper dissolved into a cloud of black smog and materialised back to back with you, but something made the former Commander flinch for a second, the sound of pulse munitions blared to your left and sprayed at your feet.

"Still so ignorant, Vrontí." You turned to the figure that spoke to you with a husky distorted voice, a man in blue and white, hints of red and a visor that glowed red with a single orange strip. A heavy helix rifle that doubled as a rocket launcher.   
   
Something made your head ache for a moment. "Do I know you, asshole?" You muttered and took a step away from Reaper's back and kept a steady stance as you fired round after round towards the tall man. He had grey hair and a heavy build, he was somewhat familiar with how you attacked and that scared you for a millisecond. He dodged effortlessly, surprisingly agile for a man of his apparent age. 

"I think you do." He growled behind his visor and managed to land a bullet into your thigh, he reached up to his visor and pressed something that made a holographic display extend, he said something and went in a hyper mode. "I don't think I so!" You hissed and tried to rush him, Reaper made a noise of frustration as something gripped your waist, you'd been lifted in a underarm grip, being carried in a swirl of blacks, violets and reds… _he shadow stepped with you_ … Again. 

"Goddamit, Gabriel." You and him appeared on the rooftop behind the man, the older man was tense and had his pulse rifle aimed in a primed position, shooting a dozen of the Talon agents.

"Just wait a second, Sophia." Reaper scolded, you tapped him on the shoulder pad, "Boy scout'll wear out sooner or later."

You cocked your head slightly and reloaded your gun, that same gauntlet wrapped around your waist and blurred with you as it wafted down in a fast breeze, you erupted from the state of disassociation alongside the wraith in one synchronised move and death rolled, managing to clip the soldier in the side as Reaper's buckshots a spray at him. Helix rocket after helix rocket was shot at you and the wraith, he constantly formed and deformed with you in his grip to avoid being blown to hell. You watch as the soldier with the number '76' on his back slowly become to weaken from the wound you'd inflicted, you and Reaper managed to chase him down the street that the payload was moving down.   
   
"You asked for it." The gruff voice of the soldier was finally heard again as he let off rounds at the wraith hunting him, you where hot on his heels and a few metres away from him, he focused in on a spot and shot you once in the gut, perfectly hitting a weak spot. 

Like he knew exactly where it was. 

"You– " Your footing faltered and you tripped over a path stone and groaned, gripping around the wound before a heavy black syrupy liquid filled your mouth and dripped from the snout of the muzzle. "Trust that you'd pick her up on your little crusade." The soldier spat venom and tensed.  
   
"Was there even a question?" Reaper hissed and threw a box he swiped from the street at full force at the man's head, it connected and he barked out in agony, reaching for the side of his visor and speaking harshly. "I should've guessed you'd get to her before us." Reaper snarled, "You think she'd choose you over me, hairline?"

"I'm standing right here!" You jerked up and stood a little ahead of Reaper, his dark built figure shadowing yours as the the other tall soldier stood unfazed at being outnumbered, the old soldier, head held high and rifle tight in his grip; looked up to the rooftops, with a unsettling pride. 

"That's the whole plan."  
   
You didn't follow his gaze or his apparent plan until you saw a figure with a stormbow and a blue glow on his left arm.  
   
He shouted something in Japanese and drew back his bow.  
   
That's not Genji. 

"Shimada! On the roof! Move!" Your voice strained against the mask. Reaper snapped out of the way, both of you rushing away from the blue masses as two dragons danced and twirled, enveloping the few Talon grunts surrounding the payload. The figure of Widowmaker fled over the rooftops, trying to outrun the glowing beasts, Reaper went into wraith form and slinked off to cover momentarily.  
   
The dragons appeared to go arch over and prime themselves to dodge you. "Hold up a second—" You froze and stood there as they simply avoided you. Even as they took on a handful of Talon grunts in single brutal sweep; the dragon on the left looking back at you and shimmered it's scales, letting out an impressed roar as it admired you, the sheer wind and electromagnetic power they gave off made you have to dig your heels into the ground to stay standing; it was like having to fight against the gale of sandstorm.  
   
"Oh, Κύριε ἐλέησον." Your eyes lit up with their blue, an aura of glowing blue coloured your gear and you became entranced. Sticking out your arm you felt one of the twin dragons push into your glove, allowing you to pet it momentarily, it roared triumphantly and turned to circle you; whilst the other dragon wrought havoc, its twin was studying you with a playful interest. "I have no idea what is happening right now, but I'm fine with it." The massive shape rounded itself to look into your eyes and allow you to pat its scales again. It felt like running a hand under cold water. They were so beautiful.

The Shimada's focus zoned onto you in anger as you snapped out of your fixation on the beasts and scaled the wall after him. The dragon who had been entranced by you roared in an act of good faith; likely as a farewell, the blue spirit rejoined it's twin.  
   
"I'm going after the archer!" you yelled at Reaper as he nodded with an acknowledged grunt and returned to the payload.  
   
If it wasn't Genji, it was indefinitely the eldest: Hanzo.   
   
He sprinted ahead, making light and controlled steps as he ran over the ceramic tiles, turning around momentarily to send an arrow at you. It was a clean exit and entrance wound, moonlight shone through it, although the hole healed uniformly as you chased him down off of the rooftops and into the alleys. The archer cussed in his language at how you were unaffected.

"So how's your brother, oh so, honourable Hanzo?” You yelled as you got closer.  
   
"Such a vain creature, taunting a dragon! 雷の呪われた狼 !" He shouted, moving out of the way, 

The sound of the peacekeeper being quick drawn echoed from the direction of the payload.  
   
You got distracted and turned to the sound, mumbling Jesse's name once before apparently loosing your footing. Hanzo had tripped you as you had failed to slow down; you landed on your belly, but, you twisted onto your back when you hit the cold paved street. Aiming his bow into your head, he made a slow growling sound as you jeered at his bitterness. He seemingly untensed when the sound of metal walking on bricks got closer. There was a green glow that intensified as you turned your head to look.  
   
"I am doing quite fine, thank you" Inhaling deeply, you smiled under your muzzle, closing your eyes. His voice was lively and calming at the same time, as you remembered it to be.  
   
"It's good to see you, Genji." It wouldn't have taken him long to come to a statistical conclusion about your identity, he knew your voice, he knew your powers, your mannerisms, he had catalogued it.  
   
"As it is to see you." He laughed, a chime in his voice that made you nostalgic.

"You were right. Your brother really doesn't take insults well."  
   
"That is true, my friend." his tone changed to a more humoured frequency as he patted Hanzo on the shoulder. Stretching, you looked at the arrow aimed at your head and wiped a small piece of dirt off it, getting a growl out of the archer and a robotic chuckle from the cyborg. "How do you know this monster, Genji?"  
   
He nudged the arrow into your muzzle, it made a metallic tapping sound.

"She is a friend of mine. Don't worry Hanzo, she's very honourable." The youngest Shimada brother's tone wavered mockingly at the end.

"This creature knows nothing of honour."   
   
"彼女はエニグマです" He hummed a mischievous tune, laughed to himself and sheathed his sword.  
   
"Your, what was the word... ah—Your vaquero is here, as well." You didn't expect Genji to remember Spanish so it was surprising to see him even recollect the nickname. You closed your eyes, sighed in a happy manner and looked back to the cyborg's head piece. Had he had it polished? It looks shinier than you remember. "Yeah, me and him had a little moment, you know how we get." You smiled and sighed lightly. "I missed that idiot."

"Yes, I do." Genji's lights glowed a setting higher and he almost purred thinking about the joy of the scene. "Rowdy is the best word, I believe." He sighed an turned to Hanzo.  
   
"Brother, there is no point, the fight is already lost.” Hanzo retracted his bow and leaned down to you, grabbing you by your shirt and pulling you up into his face.  
   
"You are lucky the dragons respect your curse," He grumbled, instantly dropping you back on the ground, stepping over you and begrudgingly put his arrow back into its quiver, adjusting the stormbow onto a strap over his shoulder.  
   
Genji looked at you for a moment, before squatting down and patting your hooded head lightly.  
   
"I will tell no one of this encounter, nor of your identity."  
   
"Have a swift flight, sparrow." You nodded with a wink and an amused chuff, a smile grew under your mask.   
   
"I always do." He tapped the tip of your mask and giggled slightly, you sighed as you watched him darted off after his brother.  
   
You sprawled out, in a starfish position. Looking to your left, you watched the streamers and small flag chains dance in the light breeze. The odd Piñata sat up on the side of pylons and buildings with deep orange tiled roofs and vast arrays of coloured walls and doors, there's a warm glow of candles and mood lighting that seemingly lulled the town to sleep. This place is beautiful. After a second of laying there you saw Widowmaker hop down from the top of a building and you sat up.  
   
"Merci, for distracting those two-" She outstretched a hand, you cooperated, letting her help pull you to your feet, "Payload's secure?" She nodded, grappling back up to the tiled roofs. You scaled up after her, sprinting out to the drop zone, at the brinks of the city.

When you arrived you looked around.

None of the grunts where left. Reaper's skin colour was a faded tan, you could see his skin poking out from the wrappings on his forearms and elbows. He looked to you as the helicopter landed and you boarded alongside him seeing Amelie grapple up to it as it hovered higher in the air. Lying across a few seats you watched Reaper's eyes focus to the glossy shimmer of the small item you got off Jesse, it was hard to see it as it poked out slightly from under your collar due to the horizontal angle and if Reaper was anything; he was observant. Quickly pulling the jacket up and pushing your muzzle to sit on the small of your neck instead of your face. He stared you right in the eyes through the bone white of his mask, before asking a question.

"How did you outrun the Shimada's?" His tone reverberated slightly to you. "I didn't."

"Oh, yes. I watched petit loup chat with the brothers, quite interesting" Widow chimed, "It wasn't a chat, I know Genji very well," you tried to defend yourself—pointless.  
   
"Ah, but my dear, you managed to grab the eldest's attention; he was very much interested." Reaper grumbled ever so slightly. "He put an arrow through me, I don't think he has any interest in chatting."

"I've dealt with men like him before, I know when they are intrigued." She hummed and flickered her golden eyes up to you, "It is understandable, is it not? Your powers are enticing to most."

"If I'm so enticing, then why did Jess smell like sake?" You rolled your eyes at her and relaxed back against the seats, you looked up to the roof, unblinking, a thought smacked you in the face, you sat up and mentally double took.

_Why did Jesse smell of sake?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL LIKE SMUT? Y'ALL BOUTTA GET IT.


	14. "Anyone have earplugs?" says the spider. (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o boy its getting steamy

You didn't even know you had fallen asleep on the trip until you were woken up by a clawed poke in the thigh from Reaper.   

The helicopter had just landed. Widowmaker apparently had a checkup with the higher ups, who cares where. You got into the lift with him, both stepping out and making your way to your rooms. Having spent the better part of fifteen minutes wriggling out of your outfit, you took everything but the shirt and underwear off. Slipping on black jeans, you loitered around waiting for Sombra; She owed you money on a wager that you were intent on receiving—before having the wraith open his down the hall.

"She's still in Dorado." He admitted, his face covered by the lighting.  

"That calls for a celebration," You grinned.

He cocked his head at you, you noticed he was wearing a short sleeve shirt and black track pants. No emo leather? You were vaguely surprised the man even owned other clothes beside his outfit, and even more characteristically they were both black articles of clothing. You finally got a full view of his arms and upper body.

Some scars littered his biceps but not as bad as the large patching of wounds on his elbows, sizeable slashes of discolouration plagued up what hinted of his left hip, lightly up the side of his body too. His skin colour was off tone, it was more greyish than his natural colour and it stood out against the almost nonexistent natural light of the corridor. He had his hair grown out slightly into a crew cut, it was all messed up. Reaper gestured for you to go to him. You followed along, entering his room you immediately saw his coat emitting smoke on the ground and a sizeable black smudging on a towel.

"What's up?" Stepping over the stained fabric, you sighed. 

"Grab that needle." He walked into the bathroom, peeling the damp black shirt he wore off, a mix of scars and toned muscle came into view and you raised an eyebrow at him, the loss of clothing exposed five bullet holes in his shoulder, it was steadily emitting a heavy black smoke. You saw a syringe on the bench top and picked it up. "Where do you want it?"  

Reaper huffed and turned around, looking over his shoulder at you. "Inject that as close as you can to the wound." "Okay." You ran your hands over his biceps to somewhat comfort him as you moved to stand behind him, somewhat pressing against the impressive muscles of his back, he looked forward and waited; you bobbed your head for depth perception and pushed the needle in, emptying whatever the reddish black substance in the syringe was into him.   

Whatever it was it looked familiar. He was unaware of the fact the mirror showed you his expression from the reflection, you watched Reaper make a facial expression that was somewhat reminiscent of relief as you withdrew the needle, slightly groaning as the wounds began to leak a murky crimson before being recuperated by nanites, you patted his back lightly and he sighed rolling his shoulder blade once for good measure, with a long inhale and a heavy sigh he turned around and squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes fixated on the wound as it appeared as if his natural skin colour was spreading from it over his greyscale body slowly. Abruptly catching your stare he snorted in an unimpressed way, pouting slightly. You shrugged and stepped out of the ensuite. Reaper followed behind, you turned and blinked a few times, running a hand through your hair and making a small yawn. His gaze fell onto the faint glimmering gold of a sheriff badge on your breast, having forgotten you had left it on, you mentally cursed yourself; taking a step closer his heavy palm rested on your shoulder, with his other hand he framed it between his thumb and pointer finger, examining it for a moment before looking up to you with hooded eyes, full of intent and interest.

"I wonder who gave you that badge?" 

"Your son." you teased slightly, but he was very much not in the mood to hear of McCree.  

"That's funny, when that ingrate shot me after you ran off for the Shimada, he had your lipstick on his cheeks." The wraith grumbled, looking at his hand on your shoulder momentarily before returning the glare.

"I smell some jealousy, Gabby." Raising your eyebrows and unsubtly moving a hand up to hold around the back of his neck as you gave him a little, pitiful frown. Sweeping your hand up his neck and then down his bicep, something that he was fond of you doing before the fall. Gabriel rolled his eyes with a sly smirk, red irises swimming in the black void as he rested his cheek against the top of your palm as you rested it upon his shoulder. He closed his eyes for a second to inhale deeply. After a few prolonged moments, his free hand gripped your waist, thoughtfully pushing you onto the bed. You landed solidly on your back in the sparse covers and the bed creaked, your mind drawing fast conclusions to what he was working towards.

With very little hesitation, Gabe arched down over you fitting himself in the gap between your legs and resting his large hands harshly on either side of you head, the fact he was shirtless raised your awareness tenfold. Something was clouding the red of his eyes—you didn't know what. He leaned down into the nape of your neck, you felt his breath on your throat; he pulled away and raised his eyebrows.   "You reek of cigars, gunpowder and cologne." he exhaled hard and the air streaked down against you, blinking slow and lazily you groaned, lying under him with an obviously guilt on your face as you avoided his stare. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and that was already getting you hot under the collar. 

"Well?" The tone was overwhelmingly disciplinary, like you were meant to stand straight and salute; he was scowling down to you with a furrowed brow and a pout. "You gonna make me sit in the naughty corner for this?" You teased with a flirty tone, "You'd need a room." he huffed in a humoured way and you hummed.  

"We'd need a room." You responded with a toothy smirk, he raised an eyebrow at the act.  

"...we have a room." He had a heavy lust filled tone, you felt a pulsing echoing inside you.

It's a warm, almost annoying buzzing of anticipation. Gabriel slowly shifted his weight between arms, making your body sway with the movements of the mattress as he stressed it. You moved your gaze to his toned chest, the muscles of his abdomen could still be used as a veracious blunt weapon—he was following your eyes, watching you check him out. "At least try to be subtle," he chuffed, before squeezing your face lightly and moving himself closer in between your thighs. Lethargically looking back up, the fire of his irises glowed when you faked innocence.

"I've never been good at it" Your teasing received a look of jest from him, sliding a hand up and carding through his hair, while your other hand stroked the skin of his shoulder lovingly. You purred when his hand slipped down your side and grabbed a hold of your waist. Gabriel adorned a persistent smirk and hooded eyes as he watched you react to his ministrations, the rise and fall of your chest. The red of his eyes shone bright again with focus. Without any consideration to contain his need, he bent down and nipped at your neck.

Feeling the scruff of his beard brush against you, a heavy heave came from you as the friction made heat bubble inside you, the distinct stickiness of excitement began to overwhelm your senses. God, you missed him doing this. You locked your legs around the sides of his hips, he growled possessively into your shoulder, as he slipped his hand under the front of your jeans you curled against his chest.

Without thought, Gabe had fluently ripped the button along with the zip mechanism of the jeans with one effortless tug—he pulled down your underwear slowly as you kicked both the torn jeans and the bikini cut briefs loosely off of your calves. You looped an arm around his neck and he hummed while he undulated himself against you, a thin layer of slacks shifted against your inner thighs, the hefty length confined behind his pants was throbbing densely, that alone sent a shiver down your spine.  

Feeling his hand make small circles over your v-line, it slid slowly down again—following the path of muscle to start squishing the soft flesh and going over it with a flat palm, two fingers separated your folds, you sighed contently when he toyed with your clit, holding it between two digits and rolling up and down before slicking his fingers up and down the distance, pushing into you and twirling the digits deeply, you rolled your head back and you screwed your eyes shut as you moaned from his rhythm.  

"So wet, and just for me." Gabe chuckled low as when he maintained the speed, hooking his digits inside you and hitting deep. Quickening the pace of his fingers as he massaged them and worked, looking up at you from the nape of your neck every time moaned, a little grin made his beard skew up and he hummed proudly. With a slow gaze he almost laughed out loud when he caught the light of a tiny spark in his peripherals as he sped up. The wraith's pace was tortuous at the least, your body struggling to stay in control as your nerves tried to cope with his technique, your thighs trembling as you desperately hyperventilated.  

Gabe stilled as your insides twitched around him, purposefully edging yo to the brink of climax before retracting his fingers; almost immediately your head arched up and gave him a knowingly aggravated look, drooling involuntarily from the intensity of pleasure. "Why the long face?" Gabe kissed your cheek a few times for good measure, you tried to catch him with your mouth, pulling his lips into alignment with yours, and you made a slightly greedy noise almost begging him to—but, much to your annoyance, he continued undulating his hips into you.

Gabriel's hand came up from between your thighs,  slipping under the cupping of your bra, slipping his index finger under the clasping at the front and unclipping it, he hummed as he palmed your breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple, the rough skin against the tenderness of yours was maddening, it made you whimper impatiently. Gabriel grinned wickedly against you, eyes clouded from lust and pride, mouth still shut when you pressed your lips to his again, you hissed air from your nose, helplessly trying to coax a reaction from him. "Gabriel, I swear." You said, he opened his mouth slightly, only enough to respond, still keeping your advances at bay.   

"Sorry to leave you so hot and bothered, sweetheart." He kissed just stray of your lips, moving back down slowly to sloppily suck on the skin of your neck, moving the fabric of your shirt up so he could lick a stripe over your breast. "I don't think you're sorry, Gab."

"Oh, I'm not. But, I don't want to consume you... at least—not in that way." He mused to himself, a little metaphorical light bulb lit up in his mind as to what he'd like to do to you next time—both of his palms wrapped around either side of the overly generous cleavage he'd presented to himself.

"I know where you're sensitive." He exhaled slowly through his nose as he leaned down, "Where you'll cry out for me, where you'll beg for me," You felt his lips over one of your nipples and he held the top lightly between his teeth, before wrapping his mouth over it and sucking before licking a rough line over it. Gabe smiled triumphantly when his head came up to see your mouth skewed open and an admirable bliss painted across your face as your palm covered you mouth in awe. "I love it when you look at me like that." He arched up to your ear and nipped playfully, breathing hotly against it before .     

You snorted and wiped some drool from the corner of your mouth. "You've gotten so defensive now." Gabriel chuckled right into your ear and you took a sharp inhale in an attempt to ignore the snarky comment. "So grumpy, just because i wouldn't kiss you."

"Oh, bite me." You retorted sharply, he bit down on your collar and you stifled a gasp at the unexpected action, flexing up to glare at him as he adorned a shit-eating grin. Wrapping your arms around his back you rolled yourself on top, the likely reason he didn't object was he ultimately knew you'd kick up a fit if you didn't get the opportunity to tease him in revenge. Gabriel's lower half lay flat, his torso ever so slightly propped up on his elbows as the muscles of his pectorals twitched when you slid yourself up on his abdomen, flipping your hair out of your face, you stared right at Gabe with an imposing expression.   

The warmth of his hands clung on your thighs like a lifeline as you brushed over the tops of Gabe's hands with your palms. Moving back down to his body—continuing to slowly shift the waistband of his pants down you caught a clear view of the trail of hair leading down his navel, seeing Gabriel visibly bristle as he watched you feel up and down his chest with a free hand, obviously enjoying the contact. A slight movement of his legs and the track pants were mostly off, but still somewhat bunched on one leg and exposing his painfully stiff cock along with the slick sheen of precum that coated the tip of his hard member. 

Letting out a somewhat ominous noise of content, you settled to slip yourself over the top of it repeatedly, Gabriel moaned, a sound rumbling in his throat and irresistibly gruff. Jerking his head backward for a moment and grunting as you pressed the tip of his cock inside only to pull away.

Resting his chin back down on his chest, he watched you grind against him with a mounting need building up. Gabe's grip realigned to hold tightly on your hips, a slight squishing lewdly sounding from the friction between the two of you. You leaned into his chest as you ran a hand through his scruffy crew cut; twirling a strand for a second. You could feel the smooth head of his member at your entrance, gyrating your hips to make him push in ever so slightly before teasing him by moving it out. You pulled your shirt along with the bra off with ease and threw it to the corner of the bed, he smirked and eyed your cleavage. His eyebrows straightening for a moment as he studied every part of you as if there was a threat he would never seen it again, Gabriel's eyes cataloged every feature on your face and you knew something was concerning him, and that, ultimately, concerned you.

"You okay, αγάπη?" You stroked nonsensically into his hair, lightly sliding to his shoulders, massaging his trapezoid muscles.  

"You're still so beautiful." Gabriel smiled, face now painted with nostalgic mirth, as both of his palms slid down to your ass, kneading the muscles. Emotion hit like freight train and you inhaled deeply, chest constricting from the resurfacing warmth of deep-rooted emotional bonds as you leaned close to him before chaste kiss on the lips, "Still so handsome, Gabriel."

"Thank genetics." With a heartfelt sound at the comment you smiled sweetly as Gabe used his body weight to roll you onto your back, he was propped up on his knees and pulled you into his lap. "That reference is proof that you're still the man I love." You hummed with a warm in both your heart and between your legs growing, he purred as he pressed himself right back at your entrance, sliding the thick, and rather sizeable member between your thighs again momentarily, slicking himself in the wet folds. "I'm not going to be holding back," Gabe leaned forward, rubbing the tip of his cock against you, he looked down as he grabbed your waist hard. You gave a toothy grin, exposing canines. "I'd be disappointed if you did, honestly."

He chuckled sinisterly, red pupils glowing in the voids of his eyes, smile wide like a great white shark as he pushed into you; slow at first—your eyebrows knitting together, your body twitching up as you tried to recollect yourself as he started thrusting at an increasingly fast and unforgiving pace, the bed creaked minutely with the momentum.  

"Jesus-fucking-christ!" You tried to form a coherent sentence of words over your own gasps, your train of thought was derailed when he continued to almost fully pull out before slamming back in and you moaned under your hand each time he did, feeling the heat of him inside you shift again and again, the hyper awareness of pleasure start to build. "Just how I like it..." Gabriel arched forward, biting your neck tenderly as you made desperate sounds from his thrusts, a black staining clung to you like charcoal from his mouth's ministrations, even if it seemed to be rubbing off with some slight effort. You lifted both arms and let one run through his hair and the locking the other under his arm leaving scratches down his back as you bounced on him. "I forgot h–how—big you are...Ah!"   

"You're...just so tight..." He breathed the words out right next to your ear and you shivered momentarily. As you made small whimpers, he kept his thrusts moving quick and hard, the bed frame creaked in rhyme as he hit deep inside you.

Teasing you with slow, controlled thrusts that made you feel everything—you whined, pleasure swelling, throwing your head back and bearing your neck as you climaxed. Like the vindictive little asshole he was, he slowed, letting himself feel you spasm and quiver around his cock, before he went back to a fast constant pace, making your voice strain as you looked back up in a haze of overstimulation. Gabriel leaned back, your hands slid up to dig into his shoulders, ghosting over healed bullet wounds. The wraiith's breathing became ragged as he pulled you flush against his hips, your cleavage mimicking the movements.  

They bounced obscenely and he made a content noise watching them jiggle and he couldn't help but strive towards having them bounce more, along with the necklace around your neck. Heat started burning up your belly, and you moaned as he fit himself completely inside you; having to accomodate for his length stretched and hit depths that made you see stars as he hilted himself inside you, feeling the curls at the base of his cock press into you—seeing Gabe's dick slip in and out, the feeling of pure ecstasy ran through you instantaneously causing you to bite your lip, trying to hold back begging as a wave of pleasure hit you.  

"Ha—you're drooling—" He purred the words under his breath and hunched forward, giving animalistic grunts each time he pulled almost fully out and slammed back in, directly hitting a sweet spot.   You moaned when he ground deep. Showing teeth before licking the middle of your neck, Gabe's path led him to push his face into you boobs leaving mating bites that would heal slowly in your lust flooded state.

"I know– " Watching the markings form as he bit down, sucking the skin and breathing heavily on it as he moved forwards with each thrust. Finding the signature golden strand that glittered under the red glow of his pupils, he hummed and ever so gently kissed it.

You slipped an arm under his tricep as you locked him forward, moving one up his back whilst the forearm around his neck was grabbing his hair, guiding him to press his forehead against yours as you neared an edge. "All mine..." He looked right at you with those piercing red eyes as you whined. "Dumbass—when wasn't I– “ a big dopey look grew on your face when you stared back and felt a wave of pleasure hit you.

"Oh—Just–nngh! L–Like...that! Gabe!" Teetering over the precipice of release your voice cracked sharply in a gasping sound and you moaned deeply against him as he continued rolling his hips deep, the continued thrusts made you make throaty moans as your thighs twitched. You could feel his body tremor as he likely neared orgasm himself, in a fluid motion he scooped you up and leaned against the bed head. Bouncing you on him at a fast pace, you felt his chest and all the toned muscles of his abdomen as you arched forward. He felt massive inside of you at this angle, like a stretching foreign warm hitting you deep, crying out his name when he hilted himself inside you again and shimmied his hips, moving himself inside of you, making a few more sparks aimlessly flutter in the dense air.

"Right, AH! there! Reyes—!" Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut as his thrusts became erratic and harsh—you adjusted your hands to move from the top of his chest to the back of his neck, with one going through the slightly peppered grey curls of his hair, resting your head next to his as you made strained moans of pleasure as you came again, you kissed the scars on his cheekbone. He made a heavy groaning sound that stuttered, his mouth fell slack and he wrapped both of those densely muscled arms around you in a tight embrace, nuzzling his head into your neck as he let out a breathy moan; he thrusted once with a blunt force you hadn't felt in awhile. A generous amount warm fluid filled you, and you, of course bit down on your tonguelike some love struck lioness. Super soldiers were always overly fluidated so it wasn't anything unusual to literally feel it dripping out of you. Gabriel gritted his teeth and growled loudly as he kept thrusting deep, purposefully overstimulating himself along with you. Your hands were gripping hard, face heaving into the skin on his neck before biting down as a brace with a low moan.

Slowly untensing, the grip around you loosened and he let a hand slide down to rest on your hip as the other tangled into your hair. His thighs were still twitching and his hamstrings were so tense that they were over-pronounced. The wraith looked down to you with soft droopy eyes, an admiration in the dulled red, a strange maroon colour, with hints of brown and crimson.  

Gabe pulled himself out of you, eyeing the sticky mess of cum he left in place, making an almost weakly vain grunt as he slumped down, exhausted—a wisp of black smoke came from his mouth as he sighed deeply while pulling up his sweatpants, you collapsed as softly as you could on him, pulling your underwear up lethargically; Gabriel looked at you for a moment, letting out an animalistic noise of satisfaction and pulled you into him with a big embrace, his bare chest sandwiching your boobs against him, thighs locking around his and breathing slowly syncing.

"Mi amor." He cooed into your ear and kissed your cheek, your hand made slow, loving strokes along behind his ear and you sighed, "Ξέρω." Your eyes shut as the afterglow made you feel drowsy; you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> breaking news: big bad wraith likes spooning


	15. Bad habits

Somehow you had managed to surprise even yourself on how you ended up in Widowmaker's quarters later that week—well, it was so sparsely decorated it might as well have been a cell. Her sniper rifle sat almost biblically perched on the desk—rounds upon rounds of ammo around it.

You'd just returned from robbing the common fridge of what ever you wished—not that there was anything good in it...no beer, nothing. Formulating a plan, you sauntered into your room with a vile and likely self inflicted poisoning purpose, in the shape of chemical cleaning products. Sadly forgetting to close the door in your own determination. Unsurprisingly however, the assassin had began silently watching you from the doorway as you dug through cupboards in search of a very poor last option.

"What are you looking for, Enigma?" You twisted up and sent a bitter look her way—bearing teeth behind your muzzle. The blacks of your uniform monochromatically blended with your hair in the sparse lighting. "Rubbing alcohol. Ethanol, Isopropyl, anything will do."

"I own a bottle—for cleaning mon précieux fusil–" Widow turned on her heels, gracefully strutting to her room and momentarily waiting for you to follow. You grumbled suspiciously, the woman's door opened with a slight amount of effort on her behalf and she weaselled to the drawers in the far corner, Widow cooed in a sweet tone as she revealed the bottle of highly toxic liquid. Turning around and throwing it to you without looking or aiming, you caught it securely in a single handed catch. Fiddling and finicking with the child proof lid for a second too long—you swirled the liquid as the cap fell to the floor, demagnetising your muzzle you clipped it to your hip. "Say, d'you want to know what the best part about regeneracy is, Widowmaker?" Letting your eyes drift up from the container to the assassin on your left, you sighed, inhaling sharply as the strong smell assaulted your senses

"Non, show me, wolf." She made an intriguing hum, raising an eyebrow and skewing her head, watching you with a slightly expectant gaze.

You grinned into the bottle and tilted it up to your mouth– she didn't expect that. The liquid burned like hellfire, you'd done this before, plenty of times in fact, great crowd stirrer. Pure alcohol, chemically and literally... not your average liquor. Hits you like a truck too.  
   
In a matter of seconds, a hundred millilitres of ethanol had disappeared into you. Widowmaker's hands began clapping lightly, she nodded slowly like she was congratulating you for a great performance.

"That is one way to solve the drought of liquor..." the woman's face turned sinister.

"Show me another one of your party tricks." One effortless act of stupidity had spiralled into a sadistic game between you and her to one up each other.  Widow previously had displayed her disassembling speed, in a matter of seconds she had managed to build and destroy her rifle.

"Ever heard of five-finger-fillet?” Pulling off your gloves you hummed, retracting an arm up the hoodie and pulling it off—exposing a black low cut singlet, you unsheathed the razor sharp knife from your hip, pulling a chair out from under the single table in the woman's room. You sat down and gestured for her to sit opposite, she pulled out a chair and crossed her legs, resting her face on her hands that she propped up with her elbows.  
   
Lifting your palm to lay flat against the wood, the bottle of mentholated spirits a few centimetres away you spread your fingers as you started at a steady pace. Nevertheless, with all the utter disregard for your own wellbeing shining through with the potent toxicity of chemicals in your bloodstream, you didn't think twice about risking a digit, not even looking at the knife weaving in between the spaces of your fingers you chattered to the assassin about old stories.  
   
"So, Amelie... I haven't had a good chat with you have I?"   
   
She hummed and slicked her a stray hair back to her ponytail. "Non—I do not believe we have."  
   
"Lat time we talked about good restaurants in Paris, so allow me to find a more relevant subject for this lifetime." You made a slightly toothy smirk. "What's your confirmed kill count?" Widow closed her eyes for a moment to think then reopened them. "Somewhere in the hundreds... what about you, Sophia?"  
   
"Probably going on the thousands." Widowmaker's usually emotionless face showed a glimmer of genuine humour. "Comme c'est magnifique, I expected nothing less."  
   
"Any memorable ones?" You almost impaled your hand but you corrected yourself in a swift reset of the rhythm and kept going.  
   
"I do not remember fine details... Due to the procedure of my conditioning. But, I do recall meeting one delightful British woman—it was the night I had slain Mondatta."

"British... Oxton, perhaps? Short hair, harness-like device on her chest..." You went as fast as you could, slowing only when you saw Widowmaker nod softly. "Yeah...Lena's nice. Always sees the good in people, helped me through some rough times back in the day." 

"Such a lovely smile. So much hope," Unexpectedly the French woman actually smiled, a small, honest laugh seeping out of her. "Un héros merveilleux." Widow's eyes didn't meet the action of laughter, a sound so surprisingly lovely. The genuine sign of emotion was alien on her face. In a moment of fixation your pace faltered and the knife in your grip slipped and dug a crooked line through the table with a grinding friction.  
   
She stared at your hand, a slither of flesh had been finely lacerated and healed over with only a trickle of blood in its wake. Despite the tension that had suddenly arisen, she did not break her focus on your hand.  
   
You wondered if her conditioning was really all that permanent.


	16. The political animal

Unfortunately, the one time you needed Widowmaker's aiming skill, she had been sent off to an assignment in Italy and a government official needed to be shot. Therefore, the next best bet was you, having had Captain Amari as a teacher proved to give you the edge in shooting, your upbringing further assisting the skill. You were no world class sniper, but, you were good with rifles; second to pistols which you excelled in. With hybrids you were amazing. You were highly proficient in any official standard with rifles. After all, growing up with a father who had a deep founded love of hunting gave you a predetermined indifference towards guns, well before Blackwatch, having shot them since you were young.  

_Pest control with a seventeen bolt action Winchester._

_The smell of gunpowder and the sound your rifle made._

_Long drives into the once pristine Australian outback. Dual carriageways dilapidated into long and narrow corridors through the desolate fields of the semi-arid grasslands that ingulf the southern plains. Clouds stretch and distort at the unchallenged clarity. The obstruction of trees and homes are nonexistent in the seas of sun-bleached wild bush, allowing the hints of curvature given by the earth to show slightly._

_The still nomadic fauna maintain their aimless wandering amongst the undulating waves of dry grass; some of the most desperate cling to the borders of the asphalt as a lifeline; these never ending stretches of scorched tar, acting as a definitive direction through the warped reality of the barren wasteland, where the reign of drought rules like a testament to the untameable vastness of nature herself; reigning with a definitive lack of empathy._

_Native creatures that fell from exhaustion lie somewhere alone in the surging fields, at the mercy of the relentless heat._

_Whilst others at peace are littered along the bitumen path; their stale bodies act as a twisted, almost convoluted warning to the tonnes of metal and boiling diesel that accelerate down the highway to stay aware of the unpredictability of the harsh and unforgiving land that swamps the road around them. The movements a monstrous red deer makes when it gets heart shot at four-hundred and eighty-two metres away in the blazing forty-six degree temperatures of the south Australian property, six hours of stalking netted you your first stag._

_Perfectly remembering the sound of the empty bullet casing being ejected from a .308 Remington, how dissipated gases from the shot filled your nostrils; your father's cheering as he clapped._

Laying flat on your belly with a high powered mechanical sniper rifle was not how you would have wanted the loving joy of your father's pride to influence the way you killed later in your life. Taking up a rifle and a pistol was not what you'd really wanted with a 94.5 ATAR. The south African heat was relentless, seeping into the shaded building. You and Reaper were awaiting to take out the treasurer of South Africa, at a media conference a few hundred metres away. Malliti Gagara was, by the information you had been give; a corrupt bureaucratic bastard. Allegedly, all of the public hated him, even the terrorist organisation Talon hated him. You've got to be a real, genuine asshole for even the terrorists to side with the people on their opinion of you.

Your muzzle sat next to you as you took laboured breaths of the dry desert air. Reaper grumbled as he squatted down beside you, looking through the blind to the assumed position of the target.   

Your target walked into view, then walked out of it, through the scope you couldn't see more than his shadow.  

Reaper moved to lie on his chest, propped up on his elbows as he makes a clicking sound to try to hint to you that the target neared; the man loitered just out of the kill-zone.  

He stepped out, standing behind the podium.  

The stage was lined with flags. All countries of the world. The sun was high in the sky, people in the crowd roared like subdued thunder.  

"I've got him." You stated, bringing a gloved hand up to fiddle with the sight dials of the scope for a second you gripped down on the bolt, pulling it back to allow a plasma charge to slot into the chamber when you pushed the metal rod forward; it gave a satisfying _click–clack–clang_ as you made the three step motion.  

Treasurer Malliti’s head hovers under the cross hairs. "Time to kill, Sparky." His voice was gruff and you smirked slightly, a lip skewed in a sinister grin. "Τίποτα με υπερβολή.” You took a breath, held it.   

 _πέντε. τέσσερα. τρία. δύο. ένα—_ You fired, there was a thud. The impact of the shot colliding with flesh.  

_Screams._

The gun recoiled heavily but you braced to minimise the withdrawal, you were sent back slightly—you watched as the man faltered and appeared to topple as burning smell filled the room. The plasma round's empty cartridge ejected, it hit the floor with a clang and you sighed.   

Reaper's gauntlet was on your shoulder in the instant after. "That's more like it." He said, voice low and rough in your ear."Where did I end up hitting him?" Your voice was hushed to a degree as you turned, looking into the mask. He looked right back, as you pushed a few stray waves of hair off of your face, sitting up he followed suite and got back into a squat as you worked on packing the plasma rifle up. "Head. Lethal shot." He stood before you did and waited for you to finish restoring the weapon inside it's case.

Police sirens blared around the city, echoing and reverberating off of the buildings erratically.

"Sounds about right." You got to your feet and swung the rifle case over your shoulder, bending and grabbing your muzzle then clipping it back over your face. Reaper took a step to stand by your side; slipping both of his arms under you and scooping you up, before dematerialising to shadow step.  

After having been pulled into the intermediate state of matter so many times you had begun to get used to the burning; every so often he would have to pause to let you re-heal, since the disassociation would start to cause visible damage after traveling too far in that state.  

When you did reform, you were on the roof of a building, waiting for evac in the form of a helicopter.  

The streets below where a chaotic flurry of rioting and panic.


	17. Vindictive little girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics in paragraph format indicate flashbacks
> 
> Back when Vrontí spoke more Australian slang than english.

_It's a foggy morning at the base, if you could even call this morning; it's the crack of dawn if anything._

_Firstly, there's dew all over the grassy, well mowed field that contrasts the orange running track that loops around it. S_ _econdly, you'd think that for a training squadron there'd be more formality; but, even though everyone is standing straight and looking to the Commander, some are half lidded and some are chattering with the person next to them. Eight out of the ten of the agents were men. Between your height of five foot ten (and a half), all the way to six-two, they were all of varying races, two men you believed were of Asian descent, one Pacific Islander who looked way too stressed out to be doing this shit and the rest you couldn't catalog._

_The other two were you and another woman—she was a burly and blonde haired. A six foot tall son-of-a-bitch that looked like she was raised on steroids and iron fillings._

_On the other side of you there's this smug looking bastard with a cowboy hat to your left._

_He breaths somewhat rapidly, you can hear him inhale and exhale—that alone is enough for you to become annoyed and want to sock him one, he's just grinning softly with a dopey glee. Having only been in Blackwatch for little less than a month; if you include the prior assessments it would be a whole month, since you were held with some priority agents to be examined and tested for a while. Of course, you clearly despised the Commander and the agents around you._

_Openly ignoring or deflecting any sort of communication other than orders—even declining those. Snapping bitter and spiteful remarks at whoever tried to mock or make peace with you, even kneeing somebody in the jaw when they called you a little rat. He deserved it. Everyone was so damn anal about how they came across, all posture and faces, smiles and salutes; on the other hand, you were slumped over, hands in the standard issue combat pant pockets and an expression that screamed to leave you be._

_Trying to soak up what little sunlight there was at this time in the morning. At least it smelt nice here, pine and timber plus the bouncy, rubbery substance that track and field events took place on gave off a distinctive smell. Commander Reyes paced slightly as he spoke to you all, he had black wayfarer sunglasses on and a very bad mood._

_"Now, instead of running this–" Reyes brought up one of his large gloved hands and gestured to the athletics track. "You dropkicks are gonna be running–" he turned slightly and gestured to the sizeable hill that had a faintly worn path guiding through it,_

_"This." it was shadowed by a slightly larger hill then another much larger hill. "It's a ten mile endurance run through the base's reserve. First one back gets first serve of breakfast. Last one gets none and does the whole thing until they beat the record." All in unison the group followed the Commander across the field, he strutted as he moved, shoulders unmoving but his hoodie stretch at his bulk as he took each stride with a obvious swagger that oozed dominance._

_The wet sound of slightly muddy grass made sludgy noises as it displaced from your steps. Everyone else moved fast and you slightly lagged behind due to:_

_a) you don't care._

_b) you don't care._

_That man in the ten gallon hat, you nicknamed him cowboy, because... well, he looked like a cowboy and he must've wanted to be one because of the red neckerchief and all that southern stuff. The newly nicknamed 'cowboy' looked over his shoulder and quirked up an eyebrow at you, teasing you; obviously not understanding the look of annoyance plastered over your face._

_You returned the look by skewing up your brow, raising your lip in a threatening way._

_He scoffed and neglected to keep his voice down, "Don't sass me, missy."_

_Trying your hardest not to openly lash out at the man, you growled. The cowboy now has a big red circle around his head in your mental revenge book. The cowboy chuckled, that only made you more irritated._

_You're still in survival mode._

_You wanted none of this comfortable banter, you didn't come here on your own choice—technically... you did agree, but what else could you have done?_

_He was a boisterous cowboy, disregarding your attempts to frighten him off; much like how you tried to tease your brother. Your brother had talked about joining Overwatch and all that—which he ended up doing a year before you ran off. Your brother, Nicholas was stationed in Seattle, last you heard. He was five years older than you and managed to pass the entrance tests with pretty acceptable marks; he wanted to be a soldier. To your assumption he had a slight of regeneracy because he came home once or twice with stab wounds in his back that healed pretty much in a few days. Who knows if the Commanders told your brother about you being recruited, he hadn't spoken to you since last year and honestly you hoped he thinks your dead or in jail; Not some prissy little lightning plush pet for Blackwatch’s ego._

_The pack stopped at the mouth of the track. You dug your heels into the patchy dirt and sighed, blinking a few times as you looked into the American forest; big pines and conifers, lots of ferns and plenty of potholes in the gravel track. They started getting into a line and bracing to run, the Commander stood in the middle and prepped himself to run as well—he whistled a sharp sound and they pushed off, boots hitting the pebbled floor heavily as they got into a solid formation._

_They moved at an intimidating pace, but you maintained the position of fifth. When you were younger the private school you'd been sent to had cross country carnivals, having gone to state level several times by the age of sixteen—you often won them but this was a while other ball park; this was serious, these people had skill, but the question was were they runners or fighters?   If you could do anything it was run._

_All those years of running to school, running to the beach with a surfboard under your arm, running for hours when you couldn't forget, running through the paddocks of the south Australian farm you, your brother and your father frequented, hundreds of thousands of hectares of desert and native bush, running from the police through the pitch black of Sydney's numerous cliffside reserves in the middle of the night after a bout of underage drinking._

_You could call yourself Forrest Gump because holy shit did you outrun your problems._

_The distraction of memory helps you to run, they began to spread out, as long distance runners usually do, the space between the pairs gradually increased as they hit the three mile mark.   Strategically knowing to weave ahead; it worked for a while, managing to surpass all the way to the third and fourth place pair, the terrain started to elevate then sharply dip as you came down the first densely wooded hill._

_It was that bulky woman and that man who had a dusty blonde crew cut, he looked disinterestedly at you and went back to his fast jog; the woman gritted her teeth and shot you a filthy look, you grumbled at her and swore in Greek, purposefully running ahead to loiter about twenty-five metres in front of her, just to piss her off. You decided that it wasn't worth it after a while of staying at the same pace, you sprinted ahead. The sixth mile came by a bit too easily, as the forest opened up slightly, you got a clear view of the sun's colour hinting in the sky. Keeping your breathing controlled you felt a cramp ever so slightly hinting in your lower abdomen. Knowing the possible discomfort that would come with the ache you spat a frothing liquid and hit full throttle, taking long strides up the steep hill._

_At seven and a half miles in; you heard it._

_You had assumed you passed the cowboy a while ago, overtaking him at the start of the race—but here he was chattering in between hyperventilating as he ran ten or fifteen metres behind Commander Reyes. The cowboy didn't notice you coming up about a hundred-fifty metres behind him, but the intimidating and ever looming Commander did. Slowly looking over his shoulder he grumbled ever so slightly when you caught his stare. The Commander huffed to himself when you broke the eye contact and sped up to close the distance between you and the man in the cowboy hat._

_"McCree." Commander Reyes shouted to the cowboy behind him._

_So that's his name—McCree? That must be his surname._

_"Yessir?" He sounded so chirpy even though he was huffing to keep up with Commander Reyes. You were about fifty metres away, imagining a big red target symbol over the man. He was in for it. "_ _You know karma?" A gruff remark with a small chuckle at the end._

_"Yessir," the cowboy inhaled sharply, "–what about it?" Questioning the commanding officer with a little peep. Fifteen metres, trying to keep your footsteps in time with his so he wouldn't hear it. ”It's coming." Reyes snapped darkly, jerking his head back towards you. McCree twisted his head back and did a very unmanly shriek. You were right behind him, hopping on one leg for a second you articulated your footing to kick the back of his knee in; the cowboy buckled instantly, falling over himself and face planting with a 'oof' as you grinned from ear to ear, leaping over him and running ahead of the Commander before jogging backwards to watch the man scramble to his feet._

_You'd forgotten the Commander was even there—you were sinisterly laughing with a dryly shouted slur in Greek._

_"ποιος γαμημένο αλίευση μέχρι τώρα καουμπόη?" Sneering to yourself as McCree dusted his hat and broke into a uncoordinated jog before trying to get back into pace, he'd fallen behind about fifty-five metres and was steadily returning. The thing that made you remember the Commander was next to you was an impressed growl from the man._

_Instantly wiping the smile from your face you snapped back at him with repugnance and watched the cowboy. There was a large clearing down the side of the hill, it almost looked like a shortcut, a grassy steady decline—if it wasn't for the fact the authority figure was literally right next to you. The rest of the track would be exposed to this possible cheat way. Hell, you could even see the finish. Hitting nine miles, the cowboy had gained ground fast, he was out for revenge. But, McCree had a grin on his face as he sprinted you down. In a poor move you ran ahead of the Commander and tried to out manoeuvre the cowboy by running around Commander Reyes, making the monolithic man stumble slightly as he tried to avoid you and the cowboy chasing each other._

_"I ain't your goddam shield, Jesse!" He roared in an annoyed tone, McCree rounded sharply to hound you down and you panicked, double stepping for a moment on your heels to make the cowboy loose footing he accidentally clipped the Commander's ankle, making Reyes fall forward onto his hands. Both of you froze, eyes wide like deer in the headlights; Reyes growled lowly and snapped his head up, getting to his feet he cracked his knuckles._

_"Now—You're both dead." He roared at the both of you and you flinched, his brows were furrowed and his sunglasses were scratched on the left lens._

_The cowboy's face turned to you and crinkled into a snarl, almost pouncing on you, it made the decision to the run down the steep grassy knoll that rolled down to the base's athletics track ever more favourable. With little thought the cowboy lunged forward and managed to snag your top, thrashing out of his grip was easier than it sounds; but leaping down the hill with a six foot tall cowboy and a Commanding Officer yelling and venting mercilessly at the two of you wasn't._

_Both of you were openly ignoring the man and kept at it._

_When you turned around you caught sight of the buff blonde chick and the buff blonde dude slowing down to watch McCree rushing and leaping after you as you vaulted down the grassy decline. He managed to grab you at some point and the two of you started tumbling over each other, going over a few dusty patches before coming to a stop at the bottom of the hill, he had slumped right over you and your head stung from all the rolling. His eyes were swimming in their sockets and he looked dizzy, you couldn't help but laugh—hysterical and loud. His eyes widened at your expression before he shut them and laughed too, up and til now the most anyone had seen you do was cringe or scowl._

_"That big asshole is so fucking mad." You grinned cynically. "Ah'd say so." McCree chuckled and sat up._

_"_ _What's your deal, cowboy—why're you trying to piss with me?"_

_"Listen... Reyes offered me th' same ultimatum as you."_

_"You shitting me?" You rubbed your forehead and barked a laugh._ _"Trust me, ah know how y' feel more than anyone."_

_You snorted and blew a harsh exhale. "Is this your way of trying to warm me up?"_

_He smirked and nodded. "I'm just doin' what I wish someone did when I was like that and such.”_

_You looked to him with a slight confusion, before looking back to see the far-off Commander making his way to the end. "Where'd they get you from, cowboy?"_

_McCree winced, "Deadlock—got caught up in a firefight and ended up shootin' the heads off a three fine gentlemen... you?"_

_Taking a long breath you shuffled out from under the cowboy and scratched the back of your head.  "Coldsonte–" You cringed for a moment at how the name rolled off your tongue in your Australian accent, the slight distortion of your ethnicity gave it more twang. "Yeah, killed maybe like 5 agents before a sniper pumped a lethal round into my thigh.”_

_A noise of interest came from McCree and he sat on his knees, making a rewind gesture with his hand._

_"Hold up, sniper? Probably Cap’n Amari. She got this tattoo–right here–" He brought a hand up to his eye and tapped underneath it._

_"Yeah, that's her—nailed me pretty good. Hadn't had to heal a bullet wound before so..." McCree whistled in a surprised tune, nodding for a second before laughing under his breath. This was the most talking you'd had since you came here. "You're a real enigma ain't ya, healing bullet wounds and that, snapping and snarling at them other folks–" he laughed to himself and smirked._

_"Seems it... I might just make you an exception, McCree." His eyes lit up._

_"Jesse, my name's Jesse...don't need no formalities... w'bout you?"_

_"It's Sophia. Or Soph... Vrontí, Vro... Either or, I don't care really, doesn't matter."_

_He said the name a few times under his breath and smiled a small dopey smirk, you laughed and his eyes lit up at the sound._

_"You gonna go back to bein' all hostile 'nd that with the others?" Jesse pouted and looked around, his goatee and stubble perking up with his expression._

_You sighed and shrugged. "I still hate their guts, plus the asshole commanding them. But... that being said, I like you Jesse, you don't seem half bad—for a cowboy, that is."_

_"Well damn, you got a friend in me, Soph." You smiled, your name sounded safe with him._


	18. Funny seeing you here.

You hadn't seen any more main Overwatch agents on your missions. Only lower level ex-recruits and the likes of that. No serious heroes, just old soldiers acting as dishonest vigilantes. That was until you had a data collection operation at an omnic temple in Nepal. The whole team was coming. Sombra, Widowmaker, Reaper and yourself, along with some disposable soldiers, once again. When you entered the mountains you felt like you had a spectator following you, somebody was studying you. Old omnics swarmed the group of you as Sombra scampered off to find some tech, Widow grappled up and lay sniping the hoards of robots mercilessly; all the while Reaper was kicking their metal skulls in and filling them with lead. A more distinctive figure appeared from the masses as an omnic with several floating orbs began to successfully go on the offensive against Reaper, the seemingly calm and collected robot looked at you as he deflected a shotgun blast from Reaper's firearm, humming as he multitasked healing and throwing the projectiles around. 

"I shall not harm you. A friend of my pupil is a friend of mine." His head turned to you, slowing his movement from a moment as he studied your muzzle.

"Who is your pupil, monk?"  

"Never you worry, simply he would have wished you good passage." The voice was calming and gave you a sense of hope, being snapped back into reality by Reaper shouting at you to move. You sighed, sprinting down halls and up flights of stairs to a better position you were subconsciously following the smell of a familiar incense as you scaled buildings to find an empty room with a still-burning incense stick and a photo frame of two young Japanese boys sitting in the corner.  

You entered haphazardly, scanning the room with a loaded pistol aimed in front of you before tiptoeing to the image, removing your mask from the fitting and magnetising it onto your belt. Squatting down to look at the photograph you laughed loudly when you saw the unmistakable smiles of two Shimada brothers, "Oh my god." You laughed under your breath as you blew some dust off the frame and studied the two smiling brothers. Pulling your hood back to see it better in the natural light, your hair undulated peacefully in the crisp mountain air. Softly brushing some more dirt from the image you jeered quietly when you studied Genji fashion sense.

"Jesus, Genji, what is that..." You laughed, only to hear very unimpressed groan come from your side. You heard the tension of a bow string stretch and you froze. "Like flies to a carcass" Hanzo growled at you, while you still refused to move.  

"You look happy here, hawkeye. I wonder what happened?" You taunted him and made a large gesture to him then Genji in the image. The archer angled the bow upwards, to your head, before tilting it down to your shoulder. "Oh, shoot me if it makes you feel better." Grumbling, you spat out a silent curse.  

Taking you up on the offer, he let go, sending an arrow about four inches deep into the top of your bicep.

"Ok, first off, ouch." Wincing slightly, you turned to look at the lodged object and the large gash it had ripped into your hoodie, now soaked with blood. "Secondly, heard of sarcasm?" You cringed when you pulled it out with force, causing the serrations of the tip to gore your arm violently, the arrow itself remained fully intact and you shook the red from it and tossed it backwards. "Happy now?" You hissed.

"No." Hanzo frowned. He drew his bow back again, this time with a new arrow. Looking down at the image one last time you stood, removing the mask from your hip and attaching it in place over your jaw before cracking your knuckles.  

With a long winded sigh you understood one simple consequence of your insults, Hanzo would chase you. 

Abruptly side stepping, you slid under his stance and vaulted to a nearby roof, he mimicked the action and put and arrow through your thigh, a clean shot; Hanzo needed them to stay in, not puncture through the other side.

"Is this because I tried to assassinate you? God, you're a prissy bastard, man up!" You yelled as he shot an arrow into the back of your knee, causing you falter in your steps, sending you almost slipping as you dislodged several rows of ceramic tiling. Hanzo laughed sardonically at your mistake, seeing it as weakness. With an angered snarl you ripped it out as you cut a sharp corner, throwing it to the ground as you moved to scale the adjacent building.  

He jumped up, snatching for your ankles as you dug the toes of your boots into inlets, practically stepping up the structure as he climbed after you.

"Keep testing me Shimada, I'll kill you even if Genji is your brother!"

He was beginning to truely annoy you, as you reached the roof of the building he let an arrow fly, lodging itself in your collarbone, you stammered back and began to become enraged. "Why do you regard your enemy with such loyalty? Who is Genji to you?" Hanzo's face furrowed as he made the comment. You stood metres from him as you groaned pulling the arrowhead out and tossing it off the building to the plaza below, that trademark burn hinted in your throats and a gelatinous black ink assaulted your taste. 

"The honourable Hanzo Shimada, heir to the empire—lowering himself to vigilantism! Pathetic." You spat venom as you spoke, putting as much force into the words as you could.  

"You know not of honour, monster. Who are you?" Hanzo pulled another from his quiver as you backed off to the edge, your patience had, completely and utterly run out.  

"None of your business." Rolling the substance into a rounded form in your mouth you gagged the repulsive semi-liquid out of your mouth, letting it leak out of the muzzle, wiping it away with the back of your wrist. A gust of wind sent the smell of gunsmoke wafting from the archer. The distinct smell of McCree's revolver, a hint of bourbon and musk mixed in with some tobacco.

You sneered, eyes curving up with the cynical gesture as you inhaled loud enough for Hanzo to hear. "You smell like my cowboy, Hanzo." With having caught him on that, you raised one hand as you saluted mockingly and vaulted a wide girth of empty alleys, hopping to another rooftop.

You stood up and walked off calmly, after the swift descent with your back to him.  

The archer, full of pride, didn't let you leave that easily.   

It was dumb of you to think that you would get away with letting slip that little hint of your precise knowledge of Jesse. Hanzo shot a scatter arrow in your direction,  projectiles hit the tiles around you as you ran ahead of them.

Without hesitation, he leaped across several outcrops and landed a few buildings away, you genuinely believed he had lost interest.

Returning to the room with incense and standing in the door frame, only to lean down and grab the gun you apparently dropped when you ran from the archer—you waited there. Reloading your handgun, turning to prepare to jump out of the room, incase you could ambush an omnic if they were to walk through the plaza and pump them with lead.

"Enough games." You heard a growl behind you and felt a stinging pain, along with your legs give way beneath you. He had spine-shot you. People had tried to disable you momentarily before, but none had succeeded this well. This searing pain was new to you. "τι στο διάολο έκανες—?" Noises of animalistic confusion left you as twisted around violently to see the arrow lodged into you lower back. "You will listen to me now, Enigma." He stated loudly, "How do you know McCree? Why will he, nor Genji tell me of you?" The tone of his voice steeled.  

"Do you want to know that badly?" You roared in agony, eyes wild in fury. Acting more like a very angry crocodile than somebody who had just had their legs disabled and a vertebrae dislodged, the alien sensation of fear flowed through you in those sparse seconds. 

"Yes." He stepped back mechanically.

"Allow me to indulge you then!" Hissing at him as you forcefully took off your muzzle, he got a clear view of your face, Hanzo studied you, playing mental connect the dots as his mind realised who you were.

_Why even the cowboy would not clarify to him about the identity of the woman that he had reconciled with in dorado, how Genji spoke to her like an old friend._

Snarling, you frothed from the mouth in impotent rage. "Happy now?"  

"Sophia Vrontí." The eldest Shimada was unblinking as he said your name, eyes full of thought. "You were one of the people that saved Genji."  

"Of course I did. How do you think his cyberisation is even electronically efficient?" You spat, eyes fixed on him. "Blame that psychopathic geneticist for the rest."

"You are a beast nevertheless."  

"Out us both, I'm the beast that values the people I care for. Along with that, you're screwing my brother." You continued, "Has that answered your questions?"  Your voice was being sabotaged by the waves of pain that came from the wound, although your high threshold managed to dull them mostly.

"How dare you say– and who is your—?" Hanzo was offended, you didn't care. "McCree, you fucking fool." Unceremoniously tossing the mask aside, giving off sparks and surges of lightning as you writhed. Rolling onto your stomach you reached both arms back and attempted to pull the arrow out, your grip loosened involuntarily under the immense stress of it hitting nerves and you let out an ear piercing, involuntary scream.  

He walked over slowly and looked down at you. For a Shimada who's 5'8" to act high and mighty around you, being 5'10.5" was a cruel joke. The slight movement of the arrow let you regain minuscule control of your legs, as your feet curled in shock; but the angle made it near impossible to remove it yourself. Frothing from the mouth as you slurred xenophobic and shamelessly vulgar remarks in the variety of languages you knew, he finally spoke. "Do you need assistance?"

"Are you seriously asking me? Pull your damn arrow out of my back, Shimada!"

He huffed, squatting down; resting his boot on your upper back and a knee into your hip as he wrapped a hand around the arrow and one on the wound itself, making you heave dryly into the floor, as you prepared for the pain. "Brace yourself." He ripped the arrow out and your voice strained in a harpy scream, your body convulsed and spasmed as it healed as fast as it could, waves of ghosted pain hit you as you rolled onto your back. Looking at the arrow turned towards you. It had small vertebrae fragments and joint fluid coating the sharp metal head. Gasping whilst your back hit against the floor when you jerked you felt your body reconstruct nerve endings.  

He stood up, retrieving the mask from the ground a few feet from you, admiring the craftsmanship momentarily and tossing it on your chest.  

"Tell Jesse that he was right about the mole." You informed, "O'reilly is in Talon."

Hanzo nodded before walking out.  

You clipped the mask to your hip and when you tried to stand your legs trembled violently at the action while you still managed to almost fall down to the plaza with your gun inhand. You hissed lightly at the feeling of healed wounds stinging.  

Sombra, however, rounded the corner cheerfully with a data drive in hand. She smiled when she saw you, but her eyebrows furrowed when she saw you body shaking uncontrollably and black gelatinous ink seeping from your mouth. "You good?"

"A quien le importa," You said, glaring at her with rage in your eyes before looking to the archer running over the rooftops. "Where are the others?"  

She flinched when she saw the Shimada on the top of the building. "—Widow is actually looking for you right now"  

"Great. My own personal purple chauffeur." Widowmaker landed behind you as your legs failed, scooping you up in a bridal hold.  

"Bonjour, sparkle."  

"Sparky—No 'le' suffix..." You writhed uncomfortably in her arms, they were cold, you could practically feel the lives she had taken with them. Humming as she grappled and swung across buildings, eventually you came to a stop and saw Reaper slowly walk to you, almost letting your legs give way as she stood you up. But you stayed balanced and recouped yourself.   "What happened?" Reaper hissed studying your eyes, they were glazed over from suppressed agony as you slowly focused in on his stare, a look of empathy from him hit you first. "Eldest Shimada sent an arrow into a main vertebrae, lodged it in."  

Reaper growled angrily while whipping some blood off his gauntlet and stepped over the bodies he drained, grey and withered.

You continued, as he moved closer, "Maybe four to five puncture wounds, the disabling shot was cheap even by my standards"

Letting yourself ramble for a moment before stopping. "Must be pretty cheap, if you're disgusted in it." Reaper almost sounded amused as he looked down at you. You scoffed and mocked laughter at the remark, he made an almost slight noise of concern when the view of your open mouth was coated in black sludge and gelatinous ink that dripped out consistently.  

Sombra darted around the corner with a big Hispanic grin on her face as you swayed slightly.  

Most of the jacket you wore was still drenched with blood and other fluids, the hacker happily pranced to Reaper like a well trained puppy and put the data hardrive in his clawed glove.   She wrapped her arm over your shoulder to support you as you both made your way to the jet.

"Mon Cherie, you did manage to keep him off of Sombra. God knows how he would have hunted her." Sombra laughed, "Yeah, he hates me so much..."  

"I can understand why." Re-attaching your muzzle, you looked down at her with a unimpressed look as the helicopter was quickly in the air and covering distance fast. Sombra sunk in her seat, you sat opposite the two women, your back leaning against Reaper's shoulder heavily as he slouched slightly.  

That infamous Gabriel posture, elbows on knees, a big pout probably behind that mask and a somewhat constantly unreadable annoyance. “And… now I'm out of charge, por qué?"  

"Pass it." You reached out your hand and grabbed the piece of tech, slipping off a glove you wrapped your hand around the object and small glittering sparks of electricity connected between you and the machine. It made a charging tone, a light vibration—as it went straight to 100%.

"Tu eres un angel!" She clapped giddily as you threw it back to her. Her basic joy made you chuff, all the while the French woman opposite entrancingly watched you playing with a few extra volts between your gloved and your free hand; making the small lightning flashes dance before letting them dissipate. "Tell us, Petit loup de tonnerre, where did you acquire such talents?"  

"You're asking me? I've had my entire life to figure it out and I'm still clueless."  

Widow glared, having given her the most dismissive of answers—looking at your hand travel to your back as your gripped down on it, feeling ghost pains, the bone of Reaper's mask turned to you—like he could sense the pain. Reaper probably could, he'd told you about being able to see strange manifestations of emotion in wraith from—when people were angry or excited; but mainly just before they died or right after. You reached back and patted his shoulder pad, trying your best to inverbally say you're fine. He huffed. Comically sighing, you stood up and stretched, walking to a separate room on the massive chopper.  

Sombra looked interestingly at you as you left, getting up to follow after you, she closed the door behind herself before asking a question of her own. "What were they like?" She questioned.  

"Who?"  

"Overwatch, chica."

"Heroes. They're good people."  

She smiled showing undertones of pride.  

Looking off to the side of her you sighed slightly, leaning against the plastic-like material of the bench top, resting back on your elbows. Bestowing her with the honour of a few of your fond memories. "I remember the taste of German beer every New Year's Eve and the accent of a man i saw as a sibling; deep, full of slangs and drawls of southern hospitality–"   

She smiled, Reaper wafted in and loitered for a moment as you spoke.  

"I remember running around hQ with one of my mentor's daughter hoisted up on my back in the heat of mid August." Your rambling began to slow, you looked down, Reaper left just as quickly as he entered, as if reassuring something to himself.

The hacker sighed with a heavy heart, waiting for a moment after the wraith left before grabbing a bottle of water from the cupboard and making a tapping sound with her foot. "As the _independent party_ ; I don't think you are built for fighting against your friends"

"You think I fought the Shimada?" She didn't know how to respond.

"If I wanted him dead I would have done it back in that restaurant in Singapore. Genji is the only reason I don't slay the blue dragon." The admission came haphazardly, momentarily rethinking the neutral party comment of hers. Sombra paused, doing some hand gestures as you scratched the back of your neck uncomfortably, your muzzle obstructed the act slightly.  

"I watched you and that cowboy in dorado, like nothing had changed even after the years."  

"A lot has changed, look at which side I'm on." You trudged to the door, she followed you back into the main area of the helicarrier.


	19. Guess who?

Reaper had gone on a mission for the week. The jet had just landed when you stood at the opening cargo door, you immediately focussed on Reaper as his full figure came into view, his coat swishing in a slow rhythm as he took his time walking towards the ramp. You sighed, watching his posture change into a less intimidating stride, there was a comfort in his step, his broad shoulders swayed like the waves on a calm day and with his bulk and height, you could hear the rattling of his belts and the stretching sound of his armour as it moved with his muscles. "Reaper." You said, pulling off your muzzle and attaching it to your hip before you met him at the bottom of the ramp, standing tall as he was nearly pressed toe to toe with you. The bone white of his mask centred its focus on you, an apparent distraction was dispelled as he straightened his head and made a sound of acknowledgement.

"Hey." His voice was lower than you'd expected, hinting he was displeased with something, lingering his gaze as he studied your unmasked face. "You alright?" You whispered, smoothing the braces of his coat and straightening the breast belt and the shotgun shells on it.

"Fine." He sulked, you reached or his hand, lifting it up into your hand and examining the sharp claws on the tips of every digit, his hand was still so heavy. "What's wrong, big boy?" You jokingly mollycoddled him, "Sombra bullying you again?" Reaper scoffed. "No."

You smiled and pushed down his pointer and ring finger, his pinkie reflexively curled in too and you smirked at the gesture you'd made him perform. "Hm, classic." Reaper chuckled lightly, before glancing between the mischief satiated look on your face and the obscenity. You could almost hear the smugness in the wraith's voice, you grinned like a child as it dilapidated into a game of guess who. "Can I have a hint?"

Reaper grumbled with a fleeting amusement and rubbed the pad of his gloved thumb on the back of your hand. "He wields a gauntl—" Abruptly, the heavy pace of foreign footsteps made you instinctively drop your grip around his clawed glove. The pace echoed through the Talon jet. A tall figure entered pronounced itself and your feet curled in your boots. The man was tall. A half-head taller than Reaper. He was far too defined to have been armoured, he was built like a tank, you suspected cybernetics or prosthetics, sparse little red lights, the undertones of dark skin colour made you scowl at the defined outline of muscle through the harsh lighting.

He took a series of steps forward and you could hear bulk shift with each step, you quickly pulled your muzzle up to your face and clipped it on before Reaper splayed his hand out as he moved each digit to alleviate any strain, he sighed lowly, you glanced at him in some sort of concern.

The man turned to the light and you went wide eyed, the face was frighteningly familiar. You stepped back, there was a lack of a certain massive gauntlet that spanned up his right arm. "So, this is the new headquarters?" The Nigerian man nodded once only to receive a somewhat formal recognition from the wraith. "Yes." Reaper nodded, not turning back to him.

You didn't take your stare or the foul expression on your face away from the Successor of the gauntlet. The accented, thundering voice of Doomfist cooed with an interest. "...And you are?"

"I'm not dropped soap and prison food, but you'd know all about that." You felt spite kindle quickly in your chest.

Doomfist was quiet for a moment. "How I admire the confidence," He squinted at you before smiling as if he'd just cracked the da Vinci code.

"It shows your intelligence, you know…" Doomfist mused to himself, you were somewhat shocked at how he'd stayed so composed for someone so incredibly violent. "A sharp tongue must equate to fast mental processing." He was nothing without his gauntlet, just cybernetic muscle, and anything electronic can be exploited. Sombra is a testament to that.

Doomfist walked past you, his eyes never leaving yours and Reaper tapped your forearm as a sign to keep pace.

"I'm surprised you're kissing my ass." You mocked, walking beside Reaper while Doomfist walked on his other side, boring a hole through the side of Doomfist's head with your glare. Doomfist chuckled lowly, bring a hand up to massage the side of his neck. "So much venom in such a womanising vessel–"

"To think you're attempting to intimidate me without the gauntlet—" You hissed, the constant rhythm of the trio of footsteps echoed down the cargo hold corridor. "You're the one who lost to an angry ape." You spat, taking your stare away from him and looking dead on.

"You talk tough for a hired meat-shield." Doomfist took a sharp, victorious sigh, smiling to himself as he passed by the glass windows of the armoury. "I wonder who you are beneath that flimsy canine mask."

"If only you knew better than kicking a hornets nest twice." You seethed, reaching for your belt to unclip a pair of knuckle dusters—a big, clawed glove gripped your wrist, holding you back. "Stand down." Reaper grumbled, you stopped on command. Akande scoffed, glancing between you and the wraith in some sort of disbelief that he had so much control without any use of aggression or anything more than a word and a basic gesture.

"Nicely subordinated, Reaper." Doomfist commended, "Seems she respects you far more than I." Your anger flared as you seethed out a low growl. You tried to tear away from the hand on your wrist, Reaper's grip only squeezed tighter.

"You're far more intelligent than this, surely. Trying to insight violence against your superior—" Doomfist cackled and shook his head, turning to you. "Somebody ought to take you out back of the shed with a hellfire shotgun." His eyes never left yours as he gestured vaguely to the wraith and you tracked him every millimetre he moved.

"Try me." You growled, tensing in the wraith's grip. There was an intensity of the Talon council member as he sauntered as if he wasn't starting a fight. Something about Doomfist is charming, you'll admit, the charisma similar to a certain Blackwatch Commander.

"Now, now. I mean no offence to you."

You slip out of Reaper's hold, only to be met with two more restraints, a cloud of nanites in the form of clawed hands wrapped around your forearm and warned you to stop. The look on the Talon councillor's face shifted as if he was about to spit venom and you refused to turn to see his face, the three of you continued walking until you all stood in the large personnel lift, designed to move large prototypes between the engineering floor and the basement levels, a sign on the far corner stated it was accommodating of roughly 5 x 5 metres of area.

"You've been hardwired to do what you're told by authority, to neutralise threats. It isn't your fault your first reaction is to kill." Doomfist continued, you started to rile up, two opaque, black claws grabbed your bicep and you are still trying to reach for either your gun or your knuckle bracers. One of Reaper's nanite clouds manifested and growled lowly into your ear.

"You're being played–" You frowned and let Reaper force your arm away, calmed just by remembering who really was behind all that Wraith. "Let her vent, Reyes. You of all people should know the need to let off some explosives."

Your tether snapped at Doomfist's comment and you squirmed free of the wraith's hold, he seethed. "—for godsakes– not in the elevator!"

You dodged Reaper's attempt to try and hold you back. You lunged at Doomfist in the ever spacious elevator and immediately swung to punch him directly in the mouth, he grabbed your arm and threw you to the side, immediately denting the steel wall of the lift with your own velocity like a sadistic flytrap and Reaper made an enraged sound, gripping harshly on to the handrail behind him. When you managed to get back up and offensive with Doomfist, he threw up his forearms like some convoluted Rocky Balboa and you slipped to the side, twisting his arm down and away.

You looped your heel behind his ankle and tripped him back, catching his neck as you slammed him to the floor and leaving a hefty divot in the bottom of the lift and with a screech, the lift faltered and came to a halt. You held the monolithic man down by the jugular, straddling his chest and punching him in the face repetitively til you were satisfied, stopping only due to the sound of you own knuckles breaking from the force you were dealing bare finally became pointless, relishing at the view of bruised skin and blood all across his right cheek and jaw that you'd battered. The fight itself felt all too easy, Doomfist wasn't retaliating despite his potential. You held your bloodied fist above him and waited for it to regenerate, Doomfist's eyes locked onto the process, cataloging the rate and stages, he was taken back, a small hum of interest rumbling up his throat.

First bone, then nerves and tendons, then muscle and skin tissue, then the sludge that you spat off to the side.

"A marvellous party trick." Doomfist complimented, only serving to further enrage you. You seethed and wrapped both palms around his throat and sent a standard kill surge of electricity through him, only to hear a hissing of pain from him, Doomfist winced, grinding his teeth and you saw the prosthetic cybernetic pathways and circuitry on his shoulders blare red hot before a tingling hit your hands, his body twitched beneath you, scattered electricity chased its way up the metallic interior of the elevator and you felt your own palms start to shake as the surge funnelled back into you, in a dizzying ecstasy comparable to a pint of thickened blood rushing to your head after a dense line of cocaine.

"You're definitely– " Doomfist roared, "Too dangerous —to be a—" He was egging you on, only now did he start to retaliate, one of his imposing hands rose up and tried to reach for your neck, you lifted his head up by his throat you slammed him back against the elevator floor, knocking a divot into the reinforced metal flooring even more.

Pressing both thumbs into the skin under his chin, forcing his head to tilt up as you sent a heavier current into him. Doomfist's jaw fell askew and he flinched, hand malfunctioning as he tried to ensnare your throat and you watched as your electricity visibly pulsed through him and the lift.

Then, behind you, a guttural hiss, low and agonising. You had neglected the fact Reaper was here too, and you immediately froze knowing his susceptibility to electricity. Snapping around to see Reaper half dematerialised in a billowing, convulsing haze of black smog and a few loose sparks, his upper torso clambering with his back against the highest corner of the lifts' wall and his mask turned directly onto you. The second of concern was all Doomfist needed to exact his retaliation, his right hand grabbed you by the neck and wrung as harshly as he could without pulverising. He jittered from the aftershocks of the electrocution, hand stuttering but, still maintaining that sickening powerful grip.

"My, my, that's about three times more volts I've had in me than in all six years of electroconvulsive therapy at Helix." Doomfist smiled, his eye had already started to bruise, he rolled his jaw and swathed his tongue in his mouth to check if you'd displaced teeth, you hadn't unfortunately.

"Now that I believe I've suffered enough for the reward, I'll be taking this momentarily." He lifted you from the ground and you snapped and snarled behind the cover of your mask, trying to pry the unrelenting hold from you. Doomfist's other hand came up and with a cynically slow, cautious tug as he pulled your muzzle off. "I swore I knew those eyes, Vrontí. They seem almost black, like a shark." He made a soft, amused noise as if he'd just witnessed a clumsy baby colt trip after his first few steps, all utterly belittling you.

"Surely explains the defensiveness over Reyes, no doubt whatsoever." Doomfist held you in the air for a moment he was looking at the Wraith. Reaper grumbled as he fully rematerialised, shifting his weight between his legs to destabilise himself to the stalled lift.

"Congratulations, Akande. I'm afraid her and I, aren't the type to fear death." Reaper sounded so composed, just like he would when diffusing hostage situations, except he was the one under siege. "It's not me you should be worried about, Reyes. As long as you work for and are loyal to Talon, I could care less." Doomfist mused, loosening his grip and lowering you to your feet as he threw your muzzle up and down in his hand.

"Seems disgustingly self righteous of you, even still, I agree." Reaper sounded utterly annoyed, a venom in his words that stung.

You glared at Doomfist, his mocha eyes followed yours and you had half the mind to hit him if it wasn't for how much you already had. "You expecting something witty and vindictive?"  

"Feels like I've been insulted by the same person." A small smirk grew on his face and he chuckled to himself, handing you your muzzle and putting his hands on his hips after a momentary wiping of blood from his face. "I do not have my knee enhancement suspended in anchor, so it will be a difficult trip up for you, Reaper."

Reaper barked a single sarcastic laugh, lethargically turning to the Successor. "Carrying you would indefinitely throw out my back, I'm not a young man anymore."

Reaper paused, as if replaying his last few words over again in his head before shivering, like he'd just reminded himself of something utterly disgusting.

"Punch a hole above you." You clipped your muzzle back over your mouth and took a few steps to hover just under Doomfist, he looked quizzically at you before doing as you'd said, punching up the top of the lift with a single foul punch and leaving a distorted hole in the steel and wires.

"Move, old-spice." You hopped up and pull-upped to wrap your hand around the elevator mechanism, it was outdated and showed hints that the headquarters was a repurposed car manufacturing depot. The steel box hissed and jolted down sharply before surging upwards. Doomfist's voice called out to halt suddenly, you felt cold claw tips tug your ankle and you dropped down back into the lift. Just as you did so, you watched the Nigerian counsellor pry the elevator doors open with no exertion on his behalf.

"Now, where were we?" Doomfist sounded awfully cheery, even with a black eye, broken nose and a perpetually bleeding slash across his cheek. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Doomfist is sorta like Saitama, would Genji be Genos?


	20. Unstoppable force + immovable object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics in paragraph format indicate flashbacks
> 
> MAAAAATE the new plot points in Moira's origin of genetic manipulation link like perfectly with Vrontí abilities of regeneracy... I'm keen.

_The beeping of the heart monitor quickened and you jostled up from unconsciousness, only to be yanked back down by your restraints. You hissed, going into a frenzied panic and thrashing and you dislocated your thumb along with your wrist trying to slip from the lock, dragging the entire levitating gurney down with you._

_It swayed before it crashed against the floor and your flinch was delayed a few seconds after the sound; an indication that you had been sedated with some sort of drug._

_"γαμώ!" You snarled, try to pushing out of your cuffs and away in a feral state, dragging the half-levitating bed with you while a blinking light just to the left of the heart rate monitor flashed, you knew all too well this meant doctors were rushing to you and you protested inverbally._

_The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway and you went into survival mode, instantly springing, dragging the hospital bed infront of the sliding door mechanism to override the door mechanism with your electricity._ _A voice yelled for you to open up as they slammed against the door it yelled before running for assistance._

_You slumped down, clutching just above your sternum. Then you remembered being shot; several times, specifically in the chest. The searing pain and the blinding agony._

_You folded your knees into your chest, cradling yourself while your hand stayed locked to the bed. Strong, constant footsteps approached the door behind you, a set of boots hitting the floor at a rhythm you knew too well. The power in the pace made you shiver in anticipation for the steps to stop._

_How did they alert him so fast?_

_The door chimed an ironically cheerful tone as it faultered to open, you turned and tride to stand, only to be pulled back down by the cuffs that you couldn't seem to get out of._

_The door skidded open and the red highlights atop of Reyes' gloves gripped through the doorway. With one mind numbingly effortless push he'd displaced the immovable door enough for him to fit through._

_Fear made you freeze as Commander Reyes' tall and toned build slipped into the room with far more fluent agility than you'd ever give him credit for. Reyes grumbled as he took in a visual catalog of your collateral path of panic and used that as a measure unsure of whereabouts you were exactly._

_You felt an utter loss of heart when he sighed despairingly, looked down and gave you a half-disappointed-half-aggravated sneer._

_"What did you do, Vrontí?" Reyes scolded, unreadable in his motives behind the frown he wore; guilting you like a dog who'd pissed on the living room carpet or chewed on their owner's favourite leather shoes._

_You sulked under his stare, avoiding the Commander's eyes as you tried to shuffle away from him, only to be stopped pathetically by your restraints._

_"Don't ignore me, Sparky." He said as he stepped over the displaced and grounded gurney, you glanced at the shine of his boots before pulling weakly at your restrained hand._

_"Keep struggling, you and I both know you're not going anywhere." Reyes huffed, you grunted and continued to scoot away in vain._

_"Yeah, yeah, I know you're a hardass." He grumbled, "Stop acting tough for once." With each of his steps closer, you tugged harshly on your restraints, slowly etching the seemingly heavier bed along with you with a rough grinding sound of steel on concrete. You grumbled when the sound of his boots moving closer one at a time stopped, instead the resulting silence was filled with a low, rumbling chuckle, the kind that sent a shrill of awariness down your spine, then another boot step._

_You were somewhat confused as to why he laughed, but you tugged anyway. After momentarily considering why, you turned to see Reyes sitting smugly with a big, stocky thigh on either side of your arm while he faked the sound of footsteps._

_It dawned on you that he hadn't moved. You'd been dragging him while he pretended to move. There was a sheer look of contained amusement on his face; the way he had a brow raised and a toothy smile on his face that made him look so smug and innocently cute but still so damn handsome—_

_Reyes was trying his very best not to make too much of a scene, you paused to take a breath before flickering your gaze to him, smiling big and wide. He practically radiated amusement from holding in his laughter._

_"You fatass!"_ _You snorted, tugging sharply on your restraints he lost his balance and fell back, strong legs still in your view as he barked a winded sound and clambered to sit back up._

_"I don't weight that much if you can pull me so easily." Reyes retorted, still trying to sit back up and adding, "Fatass."_


End file.
